David hunches deeper into his jacket. He chews on his lip, eyes locked on the doors before him. He's been in homeless shelters before, but more often than not, he tries to avoid them. It's hard being in a place so full of depression and desperation. It's too much for his mind, for a brain so accustomed to reaching out to other minds. But tonight, he kinda has no other choices.

   I don't like this, says Rose in his brain. We draw too much attention. What if someone recognised us? What if the X-Men come looking for us?

   “It's just one night,” David mutters under his breath, too on edge to slip into his mindscape for a chat. “I don't remember the last time we ate, and honestly … I need a roof over my head. Just for a bit.”

   David can feel the buzzing anxiety in his alters. All of them are on edge, are wary, and unsure. Things have not been easy the last few days. Some he can't even remember. Moments when an alter took over to keep them all safe. Part of him appreciates it, but another is upset over the loss of control.

From a distance, it would have looked like a Rothko. All contrast: yellow stone and sand, a crisp blue horizon, a blackened horizontal smear. Then red. Burning.

From a distance, it would have sounded like a pop - one, then a million. A bang - one, then a couple more. The hissing, whirring, spitting death rattle of an engine would have been muted. Silent, as one hundred million dollars of red, white, and blue taxpayer dollars crumbled from the sky like Icarus. Making popcorn will never be the same.

From a distance, the parachute may have seemed a hopeful thing. Not a potentially back-breaking thing. A breath-stealing, concussion-giving, world-spinning thing. That must have been what Lucifer felt like. There are few things more humbling than God and gravity.

Seeing the parachute, did you hope it was her? Or did you hope it was been the guy with a wife and child back home? The folded flag does not care who it goes to.

From a distance, you would have realized you can't do anything except drive. Drive, and keep your head down - the foxhole was full of foxes, after all.

@silverjetsystm

"Next time, you should pay for a ticket." Perhaps, he would have had a bathroom, a snack, maybe even a beer. Someone would have come by with a trolley and served him with a smile.

Air-Brunnhilde was a far less comfortable experience. The Air Force was not a first-class service. But, it did provide stealth, speed, and security. Good old Uncle Sam. All that trigger-finger pointing; at least it wasn't for naught. At least this came from Steven's back pocket, this time - without the risk of court marshal.

"Still want to call it Chair-Force? Have fun just 'sitting there'?" She unclips her helmet, her harness. Her fingers flip switches. The plane hums down. A hand reaches forward to tap Marc on the shoulder, the narrow cockpit stacking them like sardines. "Hey. You okay? Do you need to throw up?"

I am cheating and making each row a muse. Row 1: Valkyrie B, Row 2: Ragnarok B, Row 3: Human B

@silverjetsystm

GIVE MY MUSE A PETNAME AND SEE HOW THEY REACT! | Accepting

never call me that again | meh | idk how to feel about it | i'm ok with it | i like it | i love it | please call me that all the time

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@silverjetsystm from this meme (accepting)