capeandcowllogs | of those blackholes & revelations

of those blackholes & revelations

WHO: All imPorts.
WHERE: Atropos.
WHEN: January 7th to January 14th.
WARNINGS: Death and destruction.
SUMMARY: Atropos has risen in the night, and the inevitable has come: with her jaws she shears away the City from Earth and swallows it whole.

But the City is not yet dead.
FORMAT: Whatever you please.

The formless mass of metal haunting above, hovering like a lunar tombstone, begins to take shape. Asteroids plummet into the cheeks, the eyes, carving out bone structure. Her features howl with fury, with triumph, as she stares down below, savoring her conquest. A cavity opens. Metal swoops to form jagged, angry shears. Her teeth are born.

She waits as the world rotates, its spin more wobbly than it used to be.

And then she leans down to feast, her bite vampiric. She takes the City and then some, and all that it encompasses, so that every single imPort is captured. She takes the time to drink in any stragglers, any imPorts elusive to the City's thrall.

She holds the City on her tongue as she draws back her fist to punch the world.

And then teeth close to the shuddering, glass shattering vibration of a cosmic laugh. The jaws close, and there is no light for about an hour -- until Atropos begins to siphon solar energy from the sun into her veins. She is dissatisfied with its dying tint, or perhaps she cannot stand the redness of color, so once she injects this energy into her her body (her most intimate domain), she turns it bright yellow again. The universe within her is illuminated.

The City is a floating chunk of broken skyscrapers and puckered asphalt streets. The trauma of consumption has wrecked the usual infrastructure: buildings are half collapses, or skeletal, vehicles are flipped and strewn across the layout. Whatever vegetation that is still clinging onto life has rejoiced under the return of normal sunlight.

You can breathe. It isn't too hot, or too cold -- it's unusually pleasant, in fact. The sunshine veins that light your world are not overwhelming. There is no blue sky to complement the atmosphere, and whatever water still in the City will be constrained to the bottled kind found in shops.

But there are other floating pieces of worlds, and they might have water. Or food.

If you live in the City, your possessions should still be in the City. While about 76% of the natives have fled the City (which had gotten the brunt of focus over the past week), there are still some natives who were too sick, too sentimental or too stubborn to leave.

You'll find that your powers work normally, though you can't teleport within Atropos. You probably wouldn't want to teleport outside of her, anyway.

She swallows, and the City gentle glides down a slick throat. Dust and particles create stunning visuals, like the aurora borealis, except in warmer colors. Light reflects so easily from solar veins and starstrewn flesh.

While you can breathe easily, gravity is fickle. Physics is often defied. Atropos was never one to play by the rules.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Though most of the native population left the City before the big chomp, a fraction of millions is still a lot of people, and a lot of those people need medical attention of some kind. Most of that is far beyond Spider-Man's ability to provide, but one thing he can do is make a few drugstore runs for the few beleaguered doctors and medics that are still working through the crisis.

This particular drugstore has a door almost buried behind asphalt rubble and a fallen lampost. Easy enough work to shift, but it means he doesn't have time to move between feeling the tingle of spider-sense and the bite of breathing in -- whatever that was. He dumps his armload and puts a hand to his chest, breathing hard as though fresh air could dislodge whatever he just took in.]

Crap on a crutch, this is not good.

[ For the most part, he'd been trying to do what he could. Run supplies, mostly find people and try to get them to safety, make sure buildings didn't collapse, the kind of thing that only a guy in pricey, multi-million dollar power armor could do. He'd just finished making sure a pylon wouldn't come crashing to the ground, after the shifts and changes in gravity seemed to loosen the thing, and he'd just set it gently on the ground when he caught sight of Peter.

He probably wasn't thinking, striding over to him through the mist, the scrubbers in his system disabled when the plates of his mask flew up to hover above his head, and he started toward the rather beleaguered looking Spider-Man. ]

You look like you've been running yourself too hard lately.

[ And he walked right through a nice cloud of the stuff. ]

[Spider-Man waves the last of the mist away from his mouth, coughing.]

Hey, I can sleep when I'm dead. Which might not be too long from-- Tony, watch out!

[He drops the hand he'd raised to gesture him to a stop, too late.]

Are your suit diagnostics still working? Think we might need 'em, pronto.

[ He skidded to a stop, but not before he got a lungful of whatever it was, he'd noticed it, but thought nothing of it, and without so much to spread his brain into, he was making stupid, sloppy mistakes. Things he shouldn't be doing, but he still found himself doing it.

He nodded, after a cough, already feeling his body go to work. There was one thing he could connect to, and that was himself. ]

There's something wrong. Give me a minute. I'm not running as fast as I normally do.

[ His diagnostics were sluggish, without all the extra trappings that came with his abilities. ]

My spider-sense tingled, but I don't feel anything different. Not yet.

Apart from being terrified out of my mind, I mean, but that's nothing new. [He laughs, even though there's nothing funny about it.]

Well, let's just hope that doesn't lead you to making any rash decisions. What did they say in Dune, Fear is the Mindkiller?

[ He didn't know why he said that. More than anything, that was uncalled for, it brought up a subject they'd worked very hard to pretend didn't happen, even if it meant utterly ignoring it to the point of not paying attention whatsoever. ]

I'm pretty sure we're all scared out of our mind, so what's one more, right?

[Peter's willing to accept what Tony just said as poor phrasing from someone who's not the most emotionally sensitive at the best of times, which this certainly isn't. At least he tells himself he's willing to accept it, right up until some very different words come out of his mouth.]

Wh-- seriously, Tony? You're choosing now to take potshots? After ignoring everything I've tried to say about it for years now? What, do you have a guilty conscience to clear before we all bite the dust?

[He sucks in a breath, sharp, knowing something's wrong but unable to stop himself from continuing:]

But that would mean you actually have a conscience. So there's that.

Guilt?

[ Go figure, he would choose now to start picking up on the subtle hints and digs. Oh, it wasn't that Tony wasn't willing to talk about it, but there was the fact of the matter. He was right.

Did he regret that he was right? Yes. Absolutely. That didn't change things. He was still right. Just because you were dissatisfied with the way the world worked didn't mean that burying his head in the sand would make it any better at the end of the day.

If anything, that would make things worse. People looked up to men like he and Peter, even if he didn't realize it. Even if there were men like Jameson running a wholly different campaign, Spider-Man was influential to the whole of the superhuman community. He'd pulled him in because he thought he knew and respected what he had.

He'd apparently been very, very wrong, and he knew that.

There was nothing to do but move on, and understand that. Move away from being wrong, accepting that, and learning from his mistakes. ]

There's a difference between having a conscience and letting it dictate your every move. Not all of us are motivated by a misplaced sense of guilt.

Edited 2014-01-19 09:17 (UTC)

[Peter's hands ball into fists.]

I'm pretty sure letting your conscience dictate your every move is exactly what it's for. But y'know, this explains so much-- 42, the supervillain goon squad, threatening my family to keep me in line-- hey! Maybe next time I should buddy-up with Norman Osborn. At least he wouldn't pretend he wasn't going to stab me in the back.

[ His eyes narrowed.

Bringing up Osborn was a low blow, and it showed. His face twisted, slightly. ]

I can assure you, it's not likely to be in your favor. [ And oh did he know that -- if some of the things he'd seen and heard from the former supervillain were true enough -- oh did he. ]

It's about mitigating what's the necessary sacrifice. Am I proud of everything I did? Of course not, would I do it again? Absolutely. Sometimes we have to give ourselves up to do the right thing for more than just ourselves.

I don't support every policy that's good for my business, but because it's good as a whole, the same thing transfers to us as superheroes. When people broke the law, and we couldn't control them, what else could we do, except sign on the people who were actually cooperating, no matter what their history was.

Even he's never left me to die in a sewer, Tony. Was that a necessary sacrifice, too? Part of running ethics like a business venture?

[He took a step closer, balanced on the balls of his feet-- fight or flight, with one option looking considereably more likely.]

You made a choice, Peter. When you left, I had a duty to uphold our laws, no matter who it was.

Do you think I wanted to? Sometimes, we have to treat everyone equally. I can't just make an exception, no matter who it is. I had to do that. How do you think it would have looked, if the person in charge of registration just let someone walk out, and didn't even try to pursue them? If that got out, then the entire thing would go down the drain.

I don't get that luxury, Peter. You didn't get that luxury, but you weren't willing to set that aside, were you? You weren't willing to accept that we had to make sacrifices to make sure that it worked! I had to send them after you, and when you resisted, they have their orders.

We weren't dealing with innocent children, but superhumans! Any one of us could put someone's life on the line, and end it. The force we used was what we had to use. As SHIELD and the United States ordered us to.

[Peter sputters, feeling the heat rush to his face.]

You think I'm upset I didn't get special treatment? You really think that little of me. Jesus Christ, Tony, I think there are people who've tried to kill me who have more respect for me than that. [Like Frank Castle, the man who saved his life in that sewer.]

I'm not mad about equal treatment, I'm mad about the treatment. Period. About you and Reed having no qualms about strapping people into VR cells and leaving them there, about conscripting teenagers, about threatening family members to keep your flunkies in line--!

[Peter's voice has been ratcheting higher and higher, almost a shout, but just when it seems like he's about to leave off words and let his fists do the talking, he deflates, the transition that sudden. His blood still pounds in his ears, but the compulsion to confess overpowers the desire to use his fists, however strong. There's a small part of him insisting that this isn't normal, none of this is normal, but at least arguing with Tony makes more sense than fighting. Anyway, there's an apocalypse on, so who knows what's normal anymore?]

I gave up a lot for the wrong cause because I trusted you. My entire family did. You don't get to lecture me about making sacrifices, not the way you played me. Did any of it mean anything to you?

["It"-- meaning that brief period when they were, from Peter's perspective at least, like family, and not the kind you put up with for the sake of the kids. Somehow, he's gone from the political right back to the personal.]

You know what? Never mind, it doesn't really matter. But sometimes you need to look at the small picture to appreciate the big one, and that's never been your strong point, has it?

[ Whatever it was in the air -- dust and panic aside -- was enough to make Norman cough, and he held his elbow over his mouth as he tried to keep dust out and scan the area for opportunity. He could have stayed in NOHoPE (still quite safe) but he felt it was better for appearances to venture out into the world and take control where he could, help those within earshot. He ordered cops around, pointing to and fro.

His healing ability, luckily for him, allowed most of the unknown toxins to filter back out of his body, though not all of it could escape. He didn't notice, particularly; what caught his attention more was the familiar red webbed costume. ]

Spider-Man?

[Spider-Man looked up and groaned.]

Norman Osborn. Y'know, it says something about how bad all of this is that I almost don't care that you're here.

Actually, that's a lie. Every time you get near me or anybody I care about I wanna throw up. It's just a question of getting used to it-- wait, what?

[He did not mean to say that.]

[ The bluntness of the reply caused Norman's eyebrow to raise, his nose wrinkling in an expression that is just barely smothered. Mostly. The feeling clenching Norman's brain is some mixture of anger and smugness.

When he spoke his tone dripped confidence. ]

You can relax. I've more pressing things on my plate at the moment than worrying about you or your loved ones. If that changes, throwing up will be wasted time.

Oh, goody. I guess everything's on hold then, unless we fix this and you come out with a freshly spic-and-span reputation for your humanitarian efforts. Ain't that always the way.

Edited 2014-01-16 19:30 (UTC)

Can't say I'm complaining. Humanitarian efforts are worth acknowledgement, or so the grateful citizens seem to think. It helps to have a cause.

[ He gives Spider-Man a flat, disdainful glance. Something's weird. ]

What's wrong with you?

What's wrong with me?! Everything's wrong with me! I'm trapped in a dying universe with the man who's made my life miserable since I was sixteen years old, just for starters--

[He cuts himself off, horrified.] I-- that wasn't--

[Oh, hell and goddamn.]

[ That's got his attention. Norman's stare is much more fixed now, though there's a mild attempt at restraint. No matter how hard he stares he won't be able to x-ray vision through that mask. ]

I'd forgotten you started so young. [ A semi-bluff; he can't precisely remember knowing, but some part of him acknowledges that he must have. He steps closer. ] A dying universe with how many individual lives dying with it? We ought to consider the importance of our own survival in moments like this. There's a power in living through a veritable apocalypse.

A helplessness, too. Survival can't always be within your own grasp.

It just figures you'd be getting off on all this, you sick sonuva--

[The broken lamppost slides off the debris pile where Spider-Man had left it with a muted clang that cuts him off mid-sentence. But once he's located the source of the sound, his focus snaps right back onto Norman. Even though a part of him is saying that there are other things he should be worrying about, right now.]

You do like to conveniently forget about things, doncha. Well, sometimes it works in my favor.

[ The sudden clatter of the lamppost draws Norman's attention for a moment -- an effective momentarily diversion, if only it had been planned -- before he levels his gaze back on Spider-Man, stepping back from him about a foot or two as dull anger begins to buzz at his temples. His hands clench and unclench. Tempting to go grab hold of that lamppost, lift it and swing.

But he doesn't, of course, because he's in control. ]

I don't think your age is of much concern at this point. That would make you -- what -- twenty-five now? Thirty? [ /Jeopardy music. ] What's convenient for you is that you aren't important to me right now.

[ He doesn't intend on elaborating. ]

You don't need a hand there, do you?

[Spider-Man is only too eager to fall back onto safer conversational territory, or what passes for it between the two of them.]

All the times I've kicked your butt and you think I can't handle a long metal bar and some rocks? Please.

[Unaware that his thoughts are running parallel to Norman's, Peter looks at the lamppost and remembers the weight of it, considers grabbing it again. The Green Goblin is a tougher opponent than he likes to admit out loud, but he's always had the edge on speed, and Norman expects him to play fair.

Peter turns away sharply, reaching a hand behind him to web the rubble in place without looking. He jerks his shoulders as though he can shrug off the cold sweat trickling down his spine.]

You know this isn't normal, right? Like you said: we both know there's a bigger picture. Not that punching you in the face wouldn't be cathartic, but I know when I'm being manipulated.

[ Norman sneers in response, teeth visible -- barely -- between his lips; it's not an expression of victory but one of challenge. Sometimes it's rejuvenating to set masks aside.

He stays where he is, watching Spider-Man maneuver the rubble himself, and crosses his arms. There's something in his expression that suggests if Spider-Man were to lose his grip Norman would have no qualms standing and watching as he got crushed. ]

Sincere offer, no manipulation necessary. If I wanted to be rid of you there are more straightforward ways to hide a murder in this sort of chaos. Sloppy, but straightforward.

[ He smiles. ]

But I'll leave you be in that case.

That isn't what I meant. Not that you could actually take me in a fair fight. But can't you tell something's messing with us right now?

[Spider-Man hesitates, trying not to be obvious about it. There are bigger priorities right now than one corrupt businessman, but as Norman just helpfully announced, the mess they're in creates all sorts of opportunities for him to cause his own unique sort of problems. Maybe it's better to keep his enemy closer, for once-- especially, says that nasty part of him, if it will give him opportunities of his own. He retains at least enough control not to say that part out loud, though it's a near thing.]

Look, if you really mean it-- not that I believe you for a second-- then yeah, better four hands on deck than two. You can consider it part of your PR campaign, if you like.

of those blackholes & revelations

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sorry this is short!

no it's perfect!!

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no wait different icon

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sorry for delay, hope this tag makes sense!!

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thank you wrists i have been waiting for this

yay!

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