capeandcowllogs | You send a message in the atmosphere and everyone starts running,

Entry tags:

You send a message in the atmosphere and everyone starts running,

WHO: Moon Knight, Namora, and Bullseye (briefly).
WHERE: 123 Vague Street, by Obscure Lake.
WHEN: Late Saturday night.
WARNINGS: Violence.
SUMMARY: Bullseye follows through on Norman's orders, attacking Moon Knight, who finds himself rescued (???) by Namora.
FORMAT: IDK paragraph to start, but you don't need to follow my lead! Do whatever you want c:

Edward had wanted him to report and it gave Jake pause, since he did not like being treated as a soldier. That had been Marc Spector, not him, and he knew that being put into the role would encourage him out again.

So would other things.

He had left the mugger on the rooftop, only needing him to make a point, and now he left, moving roof to roof before he dropped back to the street. Osborn had seen the feed -- like he had been hoping he would, but staying in place would be a stupid idea. Someone would be after him soon and they would mean business.

If he died again, who would wake up? Marc, or Steven?

He didn't want to test it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All Bullseye had needed was Norman's go ahead. The moment he got it, he was out on the streets, sniper rifle slung around his body; not his preferred weaponry, but it had to look like an accident. He would have rather engaged Moon Knight directly and gotten a little fun out of fighting the psycho. Orders were orders, however. And he had plans to make this "accident" as fatal as possible.

Without that conspicuous white costume, all Bullseye had to go on the civilian clothing Moon Knight had been wearing--no easy task. Sticking to the rooftops, he'd headed in the general vicinity he'd guessed the lunatic had been in, not expecting Moon Knight to have remained, but on the off chance he'd intercept him leaving the area.

Sure enough, a figure caught his eye. Keeping to the shadows of the roof, he peered through the rifle's scope, his trigger finger itching at the positive I.D. His eyes quickly swept along the street, looking for a plausible accident scenario that would satisfy Osborn's requirements as well as his own sadistic pleasure.

The fire hydrant would do nicely.

Grinning, he pulled the trigger. The first bullet severed the chain attached to the cap. The second and third expertly aimed bullets followed perfectly crafted trajectories at just the right angle, dislodging the discharge outlet cap from the hydrant and turning it into a deadly projectile.

It was his own fault that he was hit. He had been so wrapped up in the thought of dying that an opportunity to do just that crept right up on him. He watched the street, but he hadn't thought to look up.

The cap stuck his head, slamming dangerously close to his temple, and his vision whited out when the water hit him. He stumbled from the blow, slipping under the rush of water that gushed from the broken hydrant.

He hadn't thought to look up.

Jake's head was spinning, the water pushing at his unsteady legs, but he fought it. He craned his head up, feeling blood pouring hot down his face, and even through his blurred vision, he could make out a shape on the rooftop.

"Bullseye."

Still smiling, Bullseye rested one foot on the edge of the roof, shouldering the rifle as he leaned over to admire the scene below him. It was a glorious mess between the water gushing all over and the blood. He wouldn't even have to collect the bullets--they'd already been flushed into the sewer by the force of the water.

When Moon Knight finally looked up at him, Bullseye's lips peeled away from his teeth in a triumphant sneer. He pointed a finger at the man below, then depressed his thumb to mimic shooting, winking before he disappeared.

Jake stared stupidly up at Bullseye's disappearing form, lightheaded and weak. He was going to collapse. He'd lose consciousness and he'd bleed out on the street, water washing away all that had happened as if it had been nothing at all.

He stubbornly fought it, feeling faint and like his limbs were made of led as he tried to move. He struggled as the water tried to trip his step, the whole world spinning every time he faltered. There had to be something, some solution, and as black crept in on his vision.

Then he was falling and he couldn't stop himself. He fell and there was only more water, swallowing him up and dragging him down. Marc Spector died in the sand and burned in the desert's heat, and Jake would drown in freezing water.

She was like a rocket swirling around him, some impossibly fast creature underwater, clawed fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes, blood swirling up around them. She didn't know how he ended up in her waters, why he was bleeding, but with how submerged he was and how badly the injury was, she didn't have much choice.

Namora floated over him for a moment, blonde hair curling up around her face, bubbles emerging from her gill slits before diving deeper into the waters, holding him close to her and swimming as quickly as she could. She knew there was a cove, nestled between rocks that had enough air for him to breath -- survive. For her, the travel lasted barely twenty seconds before she emerged from the waters, a low rocky ceiling curling over them, and something similar to a rocky shore rising upwards. The cove was barely about seven feet in both directions, but it would have to do. She exhaled through her nostrils before pulling the man out of the waters, and then kneeling over him, hands hovering.

Now what?

He was certain that he was gone. He knew he had swallowed too much water, lost too much blood, and he was delirious. Every mouthful he swallowed weighed him down, sinking him deeper. He felt himself being grabbed, pulled, and it thought it was death dragging him down.

But he was wrong, the blow to his head messing with his sense of up and down in the dark water. Someone was saving him. They broke the surface, and Jake threw up a mouthful of water onto himself. It wasn't even half as much as what he had swallowed, nowhere near.

He tried to open his eyes, and they stung. His vision swam with darkness, and through the spinning he thought he could see gold -- long gold hair.

"Marlene--" The sound was horribly garbled and he choked on more water that hadn't yet been expelled. Stay awake...

Namora blinked in surprised when he uttered the word, those long golden locks draping around her shoulders, dripping wet. She had no idea who Marlene was or why he was even saying the name, but what mattered was the fact that this was a sign that he was awake and alive. She recognized him as the man from the Network, the one who was Jake before and then asking for Norman Osborn. She had to assume that these injuries, the wounds, had to do with that.

"Quiet."

She said after a moment, grabbing at his shirt and tearing cleanly into pieces with a flick of her wrists. There was a head injury, that had caused the most blood in her waters. She made to clean it up as best as she could (she was not very good with tending wounds as she rarely received any herself, but she did her best). After a few moments of silence, she added:

"You are lucky I found you before any sharks did."

Jake paused, his eyes blinking and the blur got worse, but he realized his mistake all the same. No, not Marlene, not this time. She pulled him out of the water once before, when he was stabbed and sinking, but not now. She wasn't here. He was somewhere else.

Her features were hazy, and the more he struggled to focus on her, the more his head swelled up in aching protest. He groaned, coughed, and he was too afraid that if he closed his eyes, they wouldn't open again. He was vaguely aware that she was using his clothes for bandages, and she hardly seemed like she would harm him, but he couldn't place her, not with his head in such a mess.

He winced when she touched his wound, exhaling in a hiss and his body jerking. "Nh -- where?" he tried to ask, but his voice cracked and failed him.

It was difficult mopping up blood with wet fabric, but she had none of her own to offer (as she was partial to her uniform for Atlas and that was certainly inappropriate) and he was soaking wet. Still, she did what she could, pressing the pieces to the head injury and trying to stop the bleeding. Humans were so fragile, so easily hurt. Part of it was utterly strange to her.

Vibrant blue eyes flicked over to him though when he spoke up again before returning to what she was doing and again, she paused before answering him. Water dripped from the ceilings, her voice echoing when she finally spoke up.

"You are in a cave in my ocean. We are off the coast of the City." There was a beat before she added, "You were drowning."

Jake lolled his head, his chest hitching with sharp, unsteady breaths. He wasn't taking in enough air. It felt like there was too much water in the way to breathe properly. He groaned and he shivered, his soaked clothes heavy on his already weak limbs.

"Your oce--?" Jake choked again, and he remembered: there had been a lady in the water on the Network, the one who called herself the princess of Atlantis.

Jake's lips twitched at the thought somehow, even through the pain -- it actually might have been the pain making him delirious. "M'sorry 'bout that..."

"It is fine."

Namora replied, the tone of her voice like she wasn't completely focused on the conversation. She pressed the tips of her fingers against the sides of his head, careful with her claws before lifting his head, kneeling and resting his head against her thighs as she began to wrap the wound.

"Can you breath alright?" She asked as she moved her hand, checking his front to see if there were any other injuries she needed to tend to. She could not keep him here forever but it would be impossible to move him while he was in this condition. She paused again, as she was prone to do, before adding, "Who did this to you?"

Jake winced when he was moved, gasping faintly but succumbing. It hurt to talk, and her voice sounded faint, but he knew that speaking would keep him awake.

"Hurts," he admitted hoarsely, "swallowed... too much of your ocean..."

His body was making an effort to give it back to her, though, and he coughed a little more, but nothing came up.

"Nh, Osborn," he groaned, his eyelids feeling heavy again. "Bullseye."

There was the slightest hiss from her as she pressed her fingertips against his chest, as if she was checking his ability to breath before moving to wipe up the rest of the blood. Her gill slits flared instinctively at Bullseye's name and she was silent again, continuing to clean him up.

"You should have expected this. Threatening Norman Osborn so publicly. He is a fool, but he will not stand to be embarrassed." It took difficulty to keep her voice steady, but even the thought of him riled her up. He killed thousands of Atlanteans, ruined lives. Though he was not her concern within the City (as Jimmy demanded civility between them when Atlas faked friendship with his organization), it still took a lot of self control for her not to fly off and bash his face in.

"They planned to kill you. Using that... that idiot." Bullseye.

Jake knew it, but he could not contain himself. He was too full of himself, too riled to sit quietly for a moment longer. This entire City was full of people who knew Norman Osborn's sins, yet they sat on their hands because of pointless rules.

Jake tried to express this, and it choked on the way out. His eyes fluttered open again and he peered up at her. She seemed a little clearer, but Jake felt colder. "Has he -- hurt you too?" he managed, voice rough and a bit rasping. He coughed again, and he shook his head slightly.

"Worked once before."

"Not me, personally." Namora answered slowly, picking her words carefully and trying to keep her temper as cool and controlled as possible. "But he has hurt my kind." 'Befriended' Namor, had her king as part of his cabal, killed so many Atlanteans.... Norman Osborn left a wake of destruction wherever he went. But from her time, the last she remembered, he had fallen horribly and she had not heard from him since. Or at least, not bothered about it.

"You should not move too much. You are still very injured and I cannot heal you."

There was honest concern in her voice though, but she wasn't sure what to do with Jake, now that she had him.

Jake was not surprised. Osborn's reach went far, and he corrupted everything he touched. He wanted to say something, but even if he would have known what to say, it wouldn't have come out right.

Jake honestly had no idea how he ended up being rescued by a princess.

"Mh, sorry," he sighed, and he slumped back against her. "Just -- shouldn't sleep. Won't wake up."

He wasn't certain of that, but he knew it wouldn't help.

Namora traced her claw-like fingernails along his shoulder, trying to find a way to keep him awake then. She wasn't good with small talk, and she knew she wasn't a very good conversationalist. She had not been raised to be that way.

"You may have a concussion," She murmured, bringing the wad of fabric up in her other hand and pressing it back against his forehead. "I will have to take you to a human hospital soon. But the surface is very far and I cannot risk moving you." The princess paused, realizing what that entailed for her, when she found him drowning in her oceans. She would have to take care of him until she could move him.

Jake shivered at the feel of her nails (claws?) and his eyes fluttered. There was a bit of dark around his vision, his eyelids heavy and always wanting to close, so he tried to focus on the sight of her to fight it. His vision was blurry enough for him to still see Marlene in the right places, and he fought it down.

"Thanks," he said, wincing a little when she touched the wound on his head again. "Hnh -- shit." He tipped his head back, breathing out shakily, and he coughed again.

"Owe you..."

"You do not. Consider this a gift from a princess." Her usual haughtiness was in her voice, but she hesitated for a moment, softening her tone. "Try not to die and you will not be indebted to me." Namora continued to brush her claws against his skin though, drawing lazy circles. Part of it was to keep herself occupied too as she considered this whole situation. It was surreal -- something she would never have found herself in. Certainly not back home, where she was rarely in the waters.

But of course, she was reminded of just how poor of a conversationalist she was. She furrowed her brows for a moment before speaking up again.

"Who is Marlene?"

"Ain't ever been thanked by a princess before," he admitted, and he grinned faintly. He had to count his luck. What were the chances that he would land in the water where she would find him? "I'll try not to die." He felt like he might, though, but it was better than feeling nothing at all.

Then the conversation took a turn, and Jake paused. He had hoped that his voice would have croaked too much for that to be coherent, but she had heard him all the same.

"She is--" he began, and he didn't know where to begin. "She saved me once, when I was drowning."

She supposed that explained a lot, when it really didn't. She didn't understand the sensations someone felt while they were drowning -- after all, she was unable to. (And she didn't quite want to imagine it anyways.) She imagined he was delusional though, to confuse her for some woman. Perhaps flashbacking or reliving former memories.

Namora was silent for a few minutes (no surprise there) and then spoke up again, quietly, "You thought I was her."

Jake was quiet again, worrying about how much he would embarrass himself. Though, considering the scene he'd made, and how he paid for it, he figured he had been pretty humiliated already.

"You've got her hair," he said. "I couldn't see too well, so I just thought..."

Jake shut himself up. She'd probably take offense if he said too much, being a proud princess and all that. He tried to clear his throat, wincing as his throat burned from the water.

Namora instinctively tucked some of that golden hair back behind a pointed ear, arched brows furrowing. Her hair was unique among Atlanteans, most with dark hair or white hair. But never blonde hair like her. It was another trait that made her stand out, another trait of her being part human.

"You thought." She repeated, though there was dubiousness in her voice. Not that she didn't doubt him entirely, but more that she thought there was a more appropriate term. Hoped perhaps.

"You do not have to be ashamed for thinking of her. Perhaps it was the rational thing to do." Again, she wouldn't know. What's drowning to someone with gills?

Jake was quiet for a moment, save for the rasp of his still straining breaths. He closed his eyes, wetting his lips, and he did not know what to tell her. He felt saying more would seem ungrateful for the way she rescued him.

"I miss her," he admitted. "She's just been on my mind."

Jake tried to move himself a little, wincing still, but managing it even with the aches. "Sorry," he said again. "Princesses probably don't usually -- hh -- do this sort of stuff?"

Namora brought her hands up when he started to move, letting her palms hover over him but not quite touching anymore. She didn't move from her kneeling position though, unsure of whether she should help him or not. "Do not apologize." She stated firmly, gaze crossing over him again. However, at his second comment, there was almost a wry smile on her lips.

"You must think of princesses as those who do not do much at all, do you?" She scoffed a little, though not maliciously. "You were in need and you were in my waters. Remember that when your own people did not help you, Namora of Atlantis did." It was an age old speech she was prone to give whenever she was rescuing people, but one she felt obligated. She could always skip over those who fell into the oceans, ignored them, but she was fond of the idea of surface dwellers being indebted to the people of the sea. They helped them when humans never bothered to return the favor.

Jake knew moving wasn't a good idea, but at least the protests of his body hurt enough to keep him awake for a little longer. That was most important now. He hadn't minded her touch so much, it grounded him, but he didn't want to ask for it again. It might seem like too intimate of a request.

"Nh, not really, but," he managed, pausing as he had another fit of coughing, but less harshly than before. Jake waved it away, deciding it was better not to finish. He did not want to make her feel like he was ungrateful, or thought that she was the type to sit idly by. It felt like all those stories about princesses and paupers, and usually in those tales the latter one did something stupid to mess it all up, so he kept himself shut up.

"Believe me, if I had gills, I'd sign up to move in after this," he replied, grinning faintly.

Her expression brightened, and for the first time, coming close to honestly smiling. It was a small quirk of her lips but it was certainly something, compared to the flat, calculating stare and scowl she often gave. "I'd certainly make room for you, surface dweller." Namora commented softly, keeping that small smile for a moment.

She wasn't one for bantering or humor, but she presumed that it certainly helped. After all, he was grinning himself, and that must mean he was improving, right?

"How are you feeling now? It doesn't hurt as much, yes?" What would she know -- she's near indestructible.

Jake's vision was still blurry, so he missed the quirk of her lips, but he could hear it in her voice as she spoke, so it infected his mouth as well. Even small as that was, it made him feel a little better.

"Still sore," he admitted, "but I can breathe a bit better."

Jake took a pause, breathing in deeply, and he let it out slowly. "Can I say somethin' stupid?" Jake figured she considered most of what he said stupid already. "Worried that if I pass out, I'll wake up as someone else."

Namora tilted her head to the side quizzically, lips tightening ever so slightly. "I do not understand." She found herself saying at first, and then paused, thinking over his comment. "Who could you be but you?"

She brought her hands down again, stroking her claws along his shoulder lightly. "Do you wish for me to keep you awake further then?" She didn't know what else she could do at this point though. At least, until she returned to the surface. She knew, at least, that she would have to get supplies to truly tend to his wound and depending on how long he was stuck down here, to take care of him as well.

Jake opened his mouth, then closed it. "It's a long story," he explained in a groan, and it would keep him awake, but he did no think he had the energy. Besides, he was sure he'd bore her, or make her think he was crazy -- which wasn't an inaccurate thought, but still, it was better off that way for now.

"You don't have to," he told her, knowing she couldn't stay holed up in here with him forever. He could take the risk of waking up strange. "I think I'll be okay." Jake knew he wasn't feeling the pain as much as he could have been. He was too muddied in his mind to puzzle out the reasons why.

"Alright."

She wasn't one to argue this and nodded her head. She gently slid out from underneath him, cupping his face in her palm as she looked him over once more before standing, pushing her hair back. "I will return shortly. You will need food and clothes." And she would have to figure out how to bring him supplies without all of them getting soaked.

Namora was slowly beginning to realize that though it was fortunate that she saved him, that was where his good luck ended. Being trapped underwater was not so lucky for him. "Try to keep from dying while I am gone."

Jake winced slightly as she moved away from him, the new angle putting a bit of emphasis on new aches, but he could endure it. Unconsciously, he tipped his head into her hand when she cupped his face, lingering a little too long over that small connection. I had felt... nice. Grounding.

Jake smiled very faintly at her. "I'll do my best," he offered. Just the promise of warm clothes and something to eat would give him enough motivation to hang on.

"Very well."

Namora dove into the water, leaving barely a ripple as she broke the surface before floating there, only eyes seen above the water. "I will be back." And then she disappeared into the murky depths of the ocean.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You send a message in the atmosphere and everyone starts running,

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject