edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:sharon carter

The void of space is momentarily interrupted by the presence of the spacecraft Persephone: a mid-sized ship on a mission of exploration, research, and interplanetary commerce and cultural exchange. She is operated by a crew of anywhere between 15 [skeleton] and 60 [full compliment] from all walks of life. She represents a Consortium of Planets, and her home port is Earth.

In addition to the crew, there is a lively contingent of passengers aboard at any given moment. One of the goals of the Consortium is to promote interplanetary exchange, and they view safe passage as a public service. Papers to travel with Persephone are easily obtained at your home world's embassy on any Consortium affiliated planet. There is a basic background check and standard set of physical examinations, of course, but nothing troubling or invasive.

They've been en route between planetary systems for three weeks now, and life is unremarkable. Routine. There is an air of purposeful contentment.

wise_ass

It's late, but still a fairly respectable time to be up and about. He passes a few people on his way up to the holodeck but thankfully, when he gets to the door, he finds there's nobody else in sight. He lights up a cigarette and stands in the center of the dimly lit room, a blank page waiting impassively for his command. Bert takes a long, easy breath and sighs; the cigarette smoke is toasty, familiar, divine. The first one he's had in days.

"You wouldn't happen to know Mejis, would you?" he asks. His tone is polite-- it sounds like he's already forgiven the computer for not having the first fucking clue about where Mejis is, but before he can explain himself, the room has already started coming to life.

It flickers a few times through scenes Bert's not sure he recognizes as even from his world, but when it finally settles, he finds himself standing on one of the rolling hills overlooking the little town. The oil derricks, far over the hills to his left, are backlit by a fiercely beautiful sunset. On his right he can see a wide, treeless horizon that tells him he's not far from the Clean Sea.

It must have been a market day. The people below are packing up their stalls and loading up their carts. There's a tense moment where he's terrified he'll see something, someone he'll recognize before he realizes that the computer's brought him to a Mejis about fifty years prior to his ka-tet's infamous visit.

He heads down the hill and wanders a bit, trying to stay out of people's way, but enjoying, as he usually does, the novelty of secret immersion, not even minding when a woman gives him the obligatory small-town stink eye reserved for unfamiliar, unaccompanied young men. In fact, it makes him smile. It doesn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, but he can't help it. He walks through the market with that shit-eating grin, hands stuffed in his pockets, enjoying the alien quaintness of it all with a bizarre brand of contentment he figures can only be enjoyed by holidaymakers in other worlds.

He's in another world even now, though, isn't he? The station? The idea is an uncomfortable but not unwelcome knot at the base of his skull. He's spent nearly all of his time here doing penance, even if he hasn't realized it, but the last month has actually been penance in earnest. Bert had been drinking whiskey when zombi Alain had helpfully suggested he eat a bullet to better cope with his guilt, and mayhap it was a blessing, because the stuff just hadn't tasted the same after that. Or mayhap it was his own self-pity that didn't go down sweet anymore.

Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel, standing in the red dirt of Lower Market, surrounded by the smells and sights and sounds he's spent the last seven or so years trying to smother from memory. And mayhap it'd be different if he'd been dropped in at the right time and seen ole Kimba Rimer or Cordelia Delgado strutting through town. Mayhap.

But right now, the air feels clean, and somewhere a hundred wheels away, Cuthbert Allgood hasn't even been born yet. He closes his eyes and lets the idea sink in.

Behind him, the holodeck door opens, and he smiles-- that wide, idiot grin that says he's actually pleased for company-- and squints to see who it is.

"Hey there," he calls out, his voice warm and animated. "Just mind the cow pies."

Current Location: holodeck

sharpshooting

Since Pullo's party it had felt to John like the entire station was holding its breath. Waiting for what, he couldn't be sure, but he was certain the monsters hadn't been the end of whatever the station was building towards. He went about with that nagging sensation of having forgotten something, and he didn't think he was the only one. Everyone seemed subdued; not quite nervous, but never entirely relaxed.

Well, John had had quite enough of tiptoeing around. Back home it would be the height of summer-time, and it seemed stupid not to enjoy it. At this point even fake sunlight was better than none, and he said as much in his invitation. The arboretum provided more than enough space for everyone to gather, and it wasn't hard to enlist a few people to help put up a few tent poles and a sheet for a makeshift canopy. Tea, lemonade and a boozy punch of dubious colour (but refreshing taste) were set out, along with a very random assortment of biscuits which he hoped would be augmented by people bringing their own offerings.

Soon the space was buzzing with people, and John sat contentedly on the grass, sipping a glass of lemonade. It may have been a frivolous way to spend an afternoon, but there was an old saying (one almost as British as tea-time itself) about gathering rosebuds which John thought was all the justification he would ever need.

[You know the drill; tag in, tag each other, tag everyone!]

Current Location: the arboretum

xiii_legion

Once all the bodies are disposed of and the station is hammered (more or less) back into place Pullo figures it's time for a celebration. Everybody seems a bit down in the dumps, which is understandable - there's nothing left to kill, and that can make anyone a bit grumpy. But they had been stunningly successful at the killing they did do, and that deserves a party.

After a few days of preparation the hall is ready. The theme, if it could be said to have one, seems to be meat - there's a large variety of roasted and smoked meats threatening to buckle a table along with various other fruits, fish and breads, and enough scarves and tapestries adorning the walls to keep even Lady Troi happy. Most importantly, there's amphoras of wine all over the place as well as copious amounts of the harder spirits he liberated from some of the busted-open tavern rooms on the upper floors of the station. A makeshift altar to Fortuna stands along one wall - he has no idea how observant people are and whether they'll be smart enough to leave offerings to the goddess, but might as well give them the chance, eh?

Pullo was meant to be a legionary, there's no doubt about that. But as far as other careers go, party-planner wouldn't be the worst option... as long as you're happy with a bacchanal for every occasion.

good_cop

The Sanctuary was a more bustling and active place than it had been last time round by a country mile. Perhaps it was because they weren't locked in this time - thanks to Forge and Zoe's efforts with the doors they now had full control over them.

At least we have control over something around here, Sam mused grimly as she looked about herself at the people going back and forth. Some had insisted on returning to their quarters for various supplies - understandable she supposed, but dangerous. Unfortunately it had thus far been impossible to get people to agree to stick to given schedules, routes or buddy-systems, with several people she would much rather were hiding out in safety out stalking the corridors, variously armed and no doubt variously likely to return with all their limbs intact. But at the end of the day, she wasn't in a position to tell anyone what to do, so it was really just a case of hoping that people would check in regularly. It did make it impossible to say whether the people who weren't here were off on a scheduled jaunt or off lying in a pool of blood somewhere - a less than comforting thought, but short of the regular scouting missions that some were taking in between shifts on the informal guard roster, there wasn't much they could do about that - even their comms weren't entirely reliable right now, shifting in and out of range mysteriously at various points in the station as though some of the things that had escaped (or the damage they'd done) had somehow disrupted the communications relays.

She and Lauren had been able to bring only their emergency backpacks with them, otherwise completely laden with the various sizes and types of protective vests they'd managed to coax from the wardrobe room. She would have liked to to get proper body armour of the type Sharon wore, but it was too carefully tailored - there was just no time to get everyone customised kevlar suits, so simple vests, for those who'd wear them, would have to do.

They'd seen very little of the 'supers'. With a couple of notable exceptions, most had immediately grabbed their weapons and disappeared, returning only occasionally and often with half-healed wounds or covered in gore, some of which was definitely not their own.

But after the gathering of an impromptu crowd of the less combat-ready, someone - she didn't remember who - had brought up Sanctuary, and after a flurry of activity, gathering of emergency supplies (and some rather less emergency booze and cigarettes, she reckoned), and general preparation, they were setting up base in the newly hacked emergency bunker - and not before time, either, for a few hours later they were informed that floor one had joined floor two in darkness, the lights knocked out by some as yet unconfirmed enemy, though there were some popular theories - wilful vandalism by rabid cannibalistic space pirates, some said, accidental acid damage said others or - and Sam shuddered just at the thought - deliberate sabotage by the primary foes in a film franchise that Sam had very much enjoyed watching on screen but had no wish to see played out in front of her.

A few - Pullo, Cuthbert, Jack, Sharon, Peeta and Krista among them, all reassuringly competent souls - had stepped up to offer their services setting up defences and guard duty, and Steve Rogers had given up his gun to be used by those who didn't have their own weapons. Jack had shown himself to have quite the head for the defence aspect and was at present out with some of the others setting up some makeshift barriers in connecting corridors to help to create a 'safe zone' around the Sanctuary airlock.

Not long after Sam had taken the plunge and started throwing instructions around Mycroft had appeared at her side, lending his own quiet, well-considered opinions and advice and even 'getting his hands dirty' along with the rest of them as they all hauled as many useful supplies (including most of the kitchen's built-up pantry and all the emergency first aid kit they could find) as they could to the Sanctuary in one trip, sticking in groups with armed guards. Even then she was amazed they had made it mostly in one piece given the hell that seemed to have broken loose, but here they were, the next day, apparently all still alive, at least for now.

eof_classified

<00:01:ψ> INITIATE PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< ABERDEEN.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 00:01:ψ | 03:19:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ QUARANTINE RELEASE : < 1 M1A TS-#1758 > < 1 M2A TS#1000kw “EXCALIBUR” > < 1 M3A TS#4591971, TS#4591972> < 2 M2A TS#1979-1-TS#1979-3, TS#1979-1A-1E > < 3 M1A TS #4205A-E > < 3 M2A TS #731-12A-12E > < 3 M3A TS #MIR899-01A-01J > < 3 M4A TS #183RC-5A-5E “LICKER” > < 4 M1A TS #4781-8A-8G > < 4 M2A TS-#1966 > < 5 M1A TS-#396739 > < 5 M2A TS #510105 > ]
> [ LOCK DISENGAGE : < 2 M2A CP #23 > < 2 M3A CP #6319 “RIPLEY” > ]

<00:01:ψ> LAUNCH PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 29 | 12:00 A.M. :

The countdown clocks tick over to zero just as the time changes from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am. A clear chime like an elevator announcing its arrival sounds briefly in every room on board, but otherwise the passage of the countdown’s completion goes unmarked.

DING!

And then, on every floor of the station, doors that have heretofore remained locked begin to open, and one by one the things that those doors were keeping in begin to crawl out.

morethanhuman

Erik stands in the middle of the shuttle bay, one hand extended palm-up in front of him. Far overhead, almost at the top of the shuttle bay, Lwaxana’s shuttle hovers in midair. His eyes narrow, Erik curls his fingers in a little come-here gesture. A rush of power that's lain dormant in him for over a year surges out through his fingertips, and the shuttle hurtls toward him. It swoops down, passing so close over his head that the breeze from its passing ruffles his hair.

He can’t rein in a laugh-- it's been too long since he’s felt this, the full depth of his power wholly at his command-- and it bubbles up in him, exhilarating and wild, spilling out as he sweeps his hand out in another long gesture, sending the shuttle flying back up to the ceiling.

There's a sigh behind him and he turns, grinning, while the shuttle zooms around the room. “If you’re bored already, don’t let me keep you.”

"I'm sorry, did that read as an I'm bored sigh?" Mystique asks, sidling up to him with an uncharacteristically playful smile. "This is admiration. This is 'my god, you look good with ten tons of metal hovering over you'."

She crosses her arms and watches him hurl the thing back up a second time.

"But you're missing ( something... )

The shuttle lowers gently to the ground and Erik’s eyes go fierce, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Come on,” he says, striding toward the door.

. . .

They're not even thirty feet from the door when Raven sees it start to tremble in its frame.

Then all of a sudden, it stops. She glances at him and sees he's changed his focus: he's disregarding the door entirely, peeling layers off the wall, the metal rolling up and crumpling like paper until she can see the inventory shelves through the frame. There's a mess of wires, smoking and spitting sparks, but it doesn't stop Erik from stepping through.

Sure, it's petty, but Raven can't resist swiping her comm in front of the half-dead sensor; it gives a sad, bleating no access beep just as she lifts one white boot over the jagged wall.

How do you like me now, HAL?

"They're organized by serial number," she says with a frown, eyeing the tags on the front of the shelves. She pulls open one at random and sees a stack of filthy, bloodstained clothing: nope. Another: a pink vest and a cell phone covered in stickers. Another-- ooh-- has a duffel bag labeled STARK TECHNOLOGIES-- definitely worth checking out once she's found her stuff.

Finally, she pulls open the right drawer. She locks and loads her Glock with a look that's somehow both affectionate and smug, then glances over to see Erik holding his helmet up to the flickering light.

“I’ve always said it takes a very special guy to inspire fear in red and purple,” she says dryly, applying a fresh coat of lipstick in the grainy reflection of the shelves. “I think I just got goosebumps.”

[see the OOC post here before tagging.]

dr_lauren

"...and please, don't forget to take some vervain if you haven't already," Lauren finished, motioning towards a small test tube rack with a dozen labelled vials still resting within it. The security briefing with Sharon, Clint, Sam, Pullo and Cuthbert had been completed already, and with the general announcements about what to expect from the supers and the vervain Lauren figured her public safety duties had pretty much been completed. She glanced at Sam briefly as if seeking reassurance, and at the other woman's tiny smile and nod she took a deep breath, turning away to the first tray of waiting syringes.

***

The actual injections took very little time at all; with people monitoring just about every patient it meant that John and Lauren could concentrate on injecting the serum, confident that they would be alerted to any immediate issues by the others. She was cautiously optimistic that this would work, however, and indeed it wasn't long until the first stirrings and murmurs began to drift through the medbay, heralding the return to consciousness of the sleeping supers.

withmyshield

( Sharon finds some things in the vents & decides a new approach is in order. )

"You're going to kill me," Bert says as he walks up, supplies bundled under his arm. "But why are we doing this, again?"

“That’s exactly the point, Bert. Why.” She descends the ladder and sits on the lowest rung so they’re eye to eye. Eye to feverishly intent eye, possibly.

“Why haven’t we already done this? We’ve been so focused on keeping ourselves safe day to day that we’ve forgotten that we’re just not. We can’t just sit around and wait for this space station to decide it’s time to wipe us out and start over.”

This conversation is bringing up a lot of points in Cuthbert's mind that are definitely better left unexamined, or at least unsaid. His best guesses concerning the nature of the station and their captors are wildly misfigured, or so it would seem listening to the others talk. But still, what's he going to say to her as she stares him down?

To be honest, Sharon, I'm pretty sure that 'wiping us out and starting over' is just one of many little boxes left on the to-do list of the mad gods that trapped us here, mayhap along with 'deadly frost doxies' and 'innocuous-looking, pickle-flavored beer'.

But it doesn't seem like Sharon's looking for a philosophical debate or palaver and if crawling through a couple of dark tunnels is going to make her feel like she's in control again, she's come to the right idiot.

"I couldn't agree more; I've been wiped out once and I didn't care for it at all." He hands over the supplies, tucked into two nifty little pouches he’s found that strap conveniently about the waist, along with her water pack. He’s got the cable and the metal clips they’ll (hopefully?) use to secure it in a tight loop on his belt.

She doesn’t blink before strapping on the fanny pack, which says a lot about how anxious she is to get a move on: transplant New Yorker she might be, it’s never OK to look like a tourist.

All of that seems slightly less important compared to finally finding a way to break the stranglehold Proserpina’s had on them. If she has anything to say about it, they won’t stop until they find the computer mainframe, a climate control board, or someone stupid enough to admit to being in charge.

xiii_legion

Pullo isn't always the most punctual person in the world - just ask Mystique (or at least, if she was awake) - but he's in the gym at 8pm just like he said he would be, with his collection of wooden swords and his one precious gun in a holster around his waist.

For a moment he wishes his old friend Vorenus was there with him - Pullo's no leader, really, mostly staying at the head of the Aventine rabble by cracking skulls and pouring drinks. He doesn't inspire loyalty or devotion the way that greater men do and he's not even sure if anybody will even show up, but there's enough of the martially-minded still among them that he's hopeful at least one or two might. He'll worry about what to say if and when they do.

wise_ass

[April 30]

Dr. Lauren Lewis comes to Cuthbert Allgood with a troubling development. Once a peacekeeper (but of late, a wastrel), Bert feels a call to step up and, well, keep some peace.

[HERE | Contains hot chocolate & comfort.]

-

Bert goes for a walk after his talk with Lauren and runs into Sharon Carter, who's having some megrims of her own. They make a stalwart attempt at distracting themselves, first with sport and then a little holiday before realizing that troubles always come home to roost.

[HERE | Diversion & vodka. ]

-

Bert finally heads to up to have some palaver with Klaus Mikaelson on the matter of compulsion. Things are polite, civilized, and full of barely concealed loathing.

[HERE| Bourbon & strife.]

-

Quite tightly wound after his conversation, Bert runs into Caroline Forbes and decides he might as well make it two for two. It goes better... but not by much.

[HERE| Tea & sympathy.]

wise_ass

Bert walks out of the sickbay with a small crowd, all of them having been nudged out by the doctors who needed time, space and a piece of silence for their examinations.

In the small waiting area just outside it, the remaining residents of the Proserpina are in varying states of bewilderment, panic and exhaustion. The people they've lost-- all of them, apparently, boasting some kind of magic ability, at least to Bert's limited understanding-- had been all been tracked down and brought into the sickbay; those left standing had done whatever they could to help John, Lauren, and Sherlock hook the patients up to the machines that might be able to save them.

And there's the matter of the clock to contend with, which hasn't disappeared, but just run down to zero.

"Is everyone all right?" he asks of the room at large, breaking up the alternating silence and whispered conversations. Of course they're not all right, but Bert can't stand to worry by himself in silence.

proserpinian

<5:01:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< HEMLOCK.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 5:01:ψ | 09:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:20.94% > < N:78.08% > < +CCl₈O | “HEMLOCK” > < TEMP: 19ºC>

<5:01:ψ | 08:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<08:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 1 | 8:00 A.M. :

At 08:00 on the Proserpina, a colorless gas begins pumping through the air vents of Floors 1-5, initially detectable only by the inconspicuous but distinct smell of freshly cut grass.

Any subjects containing the specific nanites which restrain preternatural ability will experience a gradual decline in health, beginning with a vasovagal syncope response and followed by cardiac arrest within several hours. These subjects will find themselves experiencing a range of typical presyncope symptoms such as dizziness, blurred vision, muscle weakness, hallucinations and lightheadedness for their remaining two-to-three minutes of consciousness.

Subjects without the aforementioned nanites will be unaffected by CCl₈O.

As of HEMLOCK.EXE’s program launch, CCl₈O will be a standard element in the Proserpina’s air mix.

xiii_legion

"...well okay," Pullo was saying, "I'm sure you think that's true, but you have to admit, my explanation makes just as much sense." 'Giant balls of gas' indeed. He snorted as he dealt out the cards - one, two to them both - and then laid the next three face-up on the table. A three, eight, and a King, which didn't do much with the five and Jack that he held. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent, then reached out and tossed two bottlecaps into the pile in the middle of the table.

The table in the rec room was more 'authentic', Mystique said, though there didn't seem to be anything authentic about the bright green fuzz coating it. The lighting was certainly atmospheric, and he had hauled along several bottles of what the replicators had gifted him when he asked for bourbon, though Mystique had made a face when she tasted it. They were playing there instead of her room because supposedly there were going to be more players tonight, an eventuality that Pullo relished. Not that he didn't like playing with her, but damnit, she knew all his tells.

Which was probably why she called his bluff, and his next two bluffs, and probably why the pile of bottlecaps was much bigger on her side of the table than his, and growing.

"Godsdamnit, woman, stop taking all my money! How am I going to pay the dancing girls if you keep robbing me blind!"

[tag into any TL you like - there's no posting order, just go nuts! wheeee!]

dr_lauren

Despite Sherlock's continued disparagement of the idea of clinic hours, John had continued to hold them, and had been pleased to note Lauren doing the same. Every now and then they held them together, just to have some company. It was nice-- comforting, even-- after all this time, to have a colleague other than Sherlock. Someone who respected him and his expertise, and didn't subject him to experiments against his will.

Most of the time, anyway.

"Just try it," Lauren cajoled, "come on, what's the harm?"

John spluttered, laughing. "The harm is we have no idea what it is," he protested. "I could end up overcaffeinated or instantly drunk or it could be a sleeping potion. It has no smell, no colour-- I don't have to tell you that could end badly. That's assuming it's even meant to be ingested."

"It says 'Drink Me'," she replied, pointing at the tall green bottle sitting on John's desk. "I think that's a pretty clear indication. And besides, it's never to my knowledge produced anything actively toxic - questionable alcohol dispensation aside."

"Just because the replicator didn't want to give me tea doesn't mean I'm going to drink whatever it hands out in its place," he said, shaking his head. "You want to know what it is so badly, you drink it."

They were so busy bickering that they didn't even realize they had an audience.

[order will be your character, Lauren, John. if you want one of them separately, indicate it in the title of your comment.]

princess_bruiser

The thing about a ninja is, a ninja doesn't need a superhero name.

A ninja is just a ninja. A ninja is a force of nature. The wind doesn't have a name, the darkness doesn't have a name, and vengeance doesn't have a name...

(But if she had a ninja name, she thinks it would probably be Kimiko Shadowborn, like the awesome girl ninja from Magic Teen Warriors : Xtreme because that is a really cool ninja name.)

And after she sneaks out of the wardrobe, she knows just who her first target is.

One of the bad mutants. She's not going to hurt them, because she's not a bad guy. She just wants them to know that the station has eyes. ...HER eyes. And that she's got their number, and they better not try anything bad. Also, she's got this costume and she just had her first ninja class with Wolverine-sensei, so she really wants to do something.

So: Magneto and Mystique. Time to track them down... ninja style.

- - -

Mystique's on her way back from a swim, wrapped in a terry robe and wearing flip-flops, when she sees something familiar-looking on the ground, just outside the Arboretum.

It's a bullet. An AK-47 shell, to be precise. Just sitting there. She looks up from where she's crouched and sees another one, farther down the hall.

What the hell...

She thinks of the block of rooms up ahead, half of which lock sporadically, and wonders if it's even remotely possible that the armory has opened up.

Later, in retrospect, the fact that a child set her up with a breadcrumb-style bullet trail and she fell for it calls for some serious self-examination.

---

Bam! Mystique walks in, and the door shuts behind her. Molly-- err, the faceless ninja-- presses a button on the wall and locks it. There's a mirror in Mystique's room, so she can see Mystique, but Mystique can't see... the ninja.

Mystique's face is priceless.

"What the #$@%?!"

"Hello, Mystique," says the ninja in her most mysterious, loudest whisper. "I think we should have a talk. ...and no more swears."

"Molly," Raven says through her teeth, looking like she's about to try busting through the glass. "Unlock the door. Now."

[ C'mon, tag in and be party to Mystique's fury and humiliation or Molly's mysterious admonishments of a former X-villain!! xD Depending on your tag-in, I'll give you one, the other, or both (and let you know via IM or email) at least until your character either frees Mystique or encourages Molly to get a new hobby. Feel free to pretend your character got the wrong door and stumble into Mystique's side, or see Molly's door open a crack. ]

Current Location: interrogation rooms; 5th floor.

withmyshield

Sharon marches into the holodeck, which is empty [apparently there aren't any takers for her challenge, and it's probably for the best -grown men crying isn't the most fun way to start a beach day] and plunks her bag down in the middle of the empty space. She looks pretty hysterical dressed the way she is standing in the middle of an empty room on a space station, but Sharon doesn't give a damn about that right now.

"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.

"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."

Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.

She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.

princess_bruiser

This is definitely the craziest dream she's ever had. It's not a nightmare or anything, cuz the only bad thing about it is that her friends aren't here, and it's sorta boring. Maybe it's a little scary the way she can't seem to wake up. Everything's so real-- she even ate a PB & B sandwich from the little cubby in the wall-- but there's no way she's really in space. That'd be insane-o.

Right?

She drifts in and out of sleep for a few more hours until, finally, she feels something shift and she knows, even half-asleep, she's not on the dream-space-jail-bed anymore.

Molly opens her eyes and looks around, then gasps loudly as she jumps to her feet.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Where is she? It looks sorta like an airport and it's nighttime and nobody's around and it's definitely not LAX because she's been there before when her parents take her on vacation and there are always tons of people there.

"GUYS?" She runs off the transporter pad, sprinting across the room for no real reason other than to do something in her panic.

That's when she remembers her cell phone. Duh!

Molly reaches reflexively into the pocket of her space-prison-jumpsuit...

Wait, if I'm awake, why'm I still wearing this weirdo outfit? ...and where's my cell phone? Where're my clothes?

She stares up at the Hub, and all of a sudden, she's pretty sure she's gonna puke.

If I got kiddernapped, I'm gonna be grounded so hard.

"HEY!" she shouts at the room, voice at full, angry volume, her hands balled up into fists at her side. "HEY, JERKFACES! Unless you want me to make a new window in your fancy house, you better come explain yourselves now!"

She thinks Chase would be proud. All she has to do is scare them, punch their lights out, and find the door.

[ Come find one pissed-off fourth grade dropout in the Hub, ready to rumble. ]

morethanhuman

[March 1, late afternoon]

After beaming down to the planet, a group of Proserpinians meets up on an unfamiliar beach to try and figure out why they're all there.

[Here|Ongoing]

inhisnest

[January 7th, 2013]

Cap throws Clint a...sort of birthday party.

[Here|All Ages]

Profile

Edge of Forever RPG

November 2013

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Page generated Jul. 15th, 2025 08:49 am

the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:sharon carter

come sail away

August 12 | 10:45 PM | The holodeck, open to everyone.

like a tea-tray in the sky

Fors Fortuna (GP)

Sanctuary

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bow in the presence of greatness

Knockout: The End (GP)

Epic Vent Forays 5/19 to 5/27

[backdated to May 12th]

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[ Backdated to yesterday, noonish. ]

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Ante up!

the doctors are in

The rise of the mutant ninja.

Beach Party GP

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November 2013

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