etcelsior | not in my house

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping into MASK OR MENACE? Want to dip your toes into the setting and get a feel of whether your character will fit into it? Or maybe you're just cruising and want to play around? Then you've come to the right place!

Pick any of the following scenarios below or feel free to make up your own, but don't be afraid to throw yourself at anyone's thread, either!

And remember to have fun!

01. Your memory is hazy and you might feel increasingly frustrated or anxious, or maybe you're excited as soldiers march past, barely glimpsing you. One second you're somewhere underground, the next you're enveloped in blue light, and suddenly you find yourself directly under Flordia sun's bright and burning glare. A female soldier steps toward you with a wide smile on her face and directs you to a car, ready to debrief you. You realize you are not the only one, surrounded by equally confused or eager faces... and you're all sporting a digital tattoo on your wrist.

02. Welcome to Cape Canaveral, where the smell of the ocean is in the air and locals are more than pleased to see new imPorts roaming their streets. They wave, they cheer, they ask for pictures as politely as they can. The more inhuman you look, or if you're wearing a costume, the more likely locals are to approach. Hey, enjoy the moment! The popular malt shop is offering you a free drink if you need it.

03. The technology in this world is certainly something. The cars are clearly modeled after popular 50s cars, but they hover several feet above the ground as they drive down the street. There are digital jukeboxes in restaurants, motorcycles also hover through traffic, advertisements can be seen on a digital projector on the taller buildings. Even kids on skateboards appear to drift a safe ten feet off the ground while playing!

04. Wherever you are, you can hear the loud revving of an engine, distance at first before you finally see it: a hovercar bursting around the corner, going beyond the maximum speed limit and just barely making its sharp turn. It doesn't appear to be slowing down any time soon, not with two police cars trailing it... and uh oh. Those skateboarding kids don't have much time to get out of the way as the car comes speeding down the road. You've been brought here for a reason Hero — so you better act fast.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I wasn't doing anything.

[ He raises his hands, open palmed and up in the universal gesture of surrender. Clint steps over a few paces so he's looking at frozen tv dinners instead, though to say he stops looking at Natasha wouldn't really be that accurate either. ]

Do you think I should learn how to gut fish?

[ It's not completely abrupt. He's looking at something to do with fish, pre-packaged up into a sad microwaveable box. More than that, though, is that Clint's learned not to say too much about anything important. Better to look and wait for that kind of stuff. Or at least wait until they're not in the freezer section. ]

[ The beat of reproach says it all. She's not positive if this is some elaborate metaphor or the bland everyman conversation to fill the gap until they can really talk. She opts to play it safe. ]

You'd never get the smell out of the house.

[ Suits either situation, honestly. Moving past him, she pulls open the door for frozen fruit. Bags of mixed berries get piled into the basket he holds. She wipes chips of frost off her hands. ]

I read an article in the New Yorker. Something about adding two servings of fish a week extending life expectancy five years. [ Reaching past him, she grabs a frozen pizza anyway. ]

[ He's not talking about gutting people, Natasha. For one, he's kind of a crapshoot with knives, though Natasha's not wrong about the fact it's tangentially a metaphor. Learning new skills kind of assumes long-term plans of some kind, right? ]

So that means we'll be up to five, huh.

[ He grins like he's just made a fantastic joke. Clint looks down into her basket, gives her an arched brow, and promptly replaces the processed meat thing for something with more spinach and pineapple. ]

Coulson's ducklings say anything?

[ There's a radar. Sometimes things pop up. Sometimes, that thing is trying to figure out what to do about this place, its wars. He can admit that sometimes he enjoys the sleeping in and on vacation feel to keep up with the juniors. ]

[ Against her better judgment, a smile turns the edges of Natasha's mouth. Not for any legitimate reason in particular, but hearing him opt for the same comparison she'd made to Bruce reminds her that she's in good company. Natasha still isn't entirely used to having any kind of company, let alone the good sort. ]

I don't think they keep up with the local fish market.

[ Not what he meant, of course. But she's keen to play deliberately obtuse when it suits her. She lets the freezer door close, a begrudging acceptance of his relatively healthier choice in frozen meal-planning, and turns to head to the end of the aisle. ]

[ Clint snorts. It's not subtle but there's a certain kind of idle naturalness to the way he turns his head, carefully observes the two men from before — but for no longer than a beat, either. Apparently satisfied, he lingers for a beat near the fish. Five years isn't anything to sneeze at. Like that's the important thing, rather than doing a certain kind of knee-jerk recon that's hard to shake even when you're not Natasha Romanoff. ]

Smartass.

[ But he keeps up, because where she goes, he does. You know, when that counts. ]

If I didn't know better, I'd say you like scaring them.

They don't need me to scare them.

[ Which isn't to say she wouldn't like it. Natasha has always been careful with her choice of words. Sorting absently through bread products, she continues. ]

Have you met Ward?

Know of him.

[ Not that Clint knows everyone, what with Strike Team Delta being understandably busy a lot of the time. He follows her lead, looking at different loaves of pre-packaged bread. Sunflower seeds or chia. That's a pretty big decision to make, so Clint decides to kind of mull it over, grabbing one and reading the nutritional table at the back. ]

Haven't met him since I accidentally had a beer in the same bar as him. [ Without skipping a beat: ]

He turn tail?

Turned something.

[ Not that she has a hill to stand on with the traitor thing, really. A fact too many people seem keen to remind her of here with their paranoia about her origins. Lowering the loaf of bread she was holding back to the shelf, she leans over to examine the label over his shoulder. ]

HYDRA. Caught them all off-guard.

He had good test scores.

[ Like it matters. Clint turns just a fraction to blink down at her, then refocuses back on the label. Right. HYDRA. Shadow warfare's the watchword, these days. ]

There a reason he's still alive?

[ It comes from a place that's part curiosity and part assassin in nature. Either/or. ]

Emotional attachments.

[ If she had to guess. It's their mess. She's not cleaning it up unless it becomes her problem, or they ask her to. Crinkling her nose, she straightens and shakes her head. Veto-ing that bread. She's moving on, grabbing the one she'd had before and settling for it. ]

Red or white? [ Wine, obviously, which is the next row over. ]

Ducklings, [ he repeats, like that kind of explains everything. He pulls a face that can't exactly be called flattering but is at least acquiescing, grabbing a small package of sesame bagels and dumping it into the basket too. ]

They're still pretty green.

[ Observation. He scratches his jaw, thinking that one over. ]

How about beer?

They'll get over it when they put him down. [ Or their optimism will prove Natasha and Clint's methods wrong. Either outcome is one she's interested in, honestly. Steve has her challenging her more deeply-ingrained beliefs lately, waiting to see how it all pans out.

Stopping at the end of the beer and wine aisle, she sizes up a couple bottles, as if she hadn't heard Clint's response. She grabs a bottle of red and stows it in the basket before moving to the beer. For later. She knows how to compromise. ]

[ Clint makes another noise that's a little too high pitched to be a grunt. He views the world through a slightly differently shaped lens — second chances are kind of a thing, for him — but HYDRA isn't really his business right now. He's not adverse to waiting for an outcome.

Clint's the one who grabs up the six pack, fingers punching through the pre-cut fingerholes in the cardboard crating. ]

Still no sign of Coulson?

[ He asks, like, once a month. Clint doesn't really bother to be subtle about it, though chances would be that he's the one who'd see it. Hawkeye. More than a name. Etc, etc. ]

Not even a coat tail.

[ Stepping over, she pulls one of the bottles out of the pack, looking it over. Deciding she's good with the beer selection, she grabs another six pack, then looks over at him. ]

Kinda makes you wonder if we can take their word for it.

[ Truthfully, she isn't concerned. If she were, she wouldn't have humored it this long. Coulson back from the dead and running a team like this one is the weirdest fucking thing she's heard all year, so she doesn't expect someone to make that up if they were trying to con someone. ]

not in my house

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