That's a misleading statement. For one, it looks entirely too calm. It needs some jazzing up -- an emphasis or two, maybe a good ol' exclamation mark. Because the thing is, there is a body in front of my house. And given the day I've had, it's the perfect rotten cherry on top of a pretty sour sundae. One year, it's been, since Norman Osborn painted the Island red -- as far as anniversaries go, this isn't one I would've ever chosen to celebrate, for reasons that are glaringly obvious. The image of Kendra Shaw's face moments before I chose to let her fall to her death has been permanently burned into my mind's eye for twelve whole months, now, and there's a second -- just a second, but that's plenty long for something like this, trust me -- where I wonder if it isn't her body sprawled over the ground. As I get closer, though -- I'm running, by now, of course I'm running -- it quickly becomes apparent that that isn't the case. Her hair's not as dark, though it's hard to tell if it's brown or red in
( ... )
I come around slowly. Slower than I'd like, and I'm not even sure why that is, at first, until the vague feeling of alarm resolves itself into the more solid remembrance of why I'm alarmed, what was going on before I went out like a light.
Not just any light, either, like a bulb that's been straight-up crushed, which is about how my head feels, like it's full of shards of broken glass and one burning filament. It's work, getting my bearings, and at first all I can manage is the sound of a voice. It's familiar, and it's probably why I don't immediately freak out on realizing something's got my arm restrained.
Hand. That's a hand. Not cuffs, or restraints, or a straitjacket. Probably a good sign, and it's backed up when I open my eyes. I don't get a very clear picture of the world, it's very blurry. It has yet to resolve itself, which is probably appropriate. Fits my knowledge of the situation. But there's only one blurry figure, and it's definitely not Hulk 2: Hulk Harder. Definitely not in Roxxon, either, I'm outdoors, which is...
( ... )
"Sterns?" I echo, confusion written plainly on my face. It takes me a minute to connect the name with a face I know I know, a guy I haven't had any reason to think about in nearly two years -- probably longer, honestly, since the Leader was never really one of my bad guys, now, was he?
"As in Samuel Sterns? The guy with the big head, tangos with the Hulk?" All of a beat passes before I realize the more important piece of information she's just given me, though, even if my confusion becomes more pronounced because of it. "Wait, you said good, does that mean--?"
I want to ask if she knows me -- I mean, it's pretty clear I don't know her, there's no point in getting that much cleared up -- but that's really not my biggest concern right now, is it? Shaking my head, I scoff, adding, "Never mind, not important. Can you sit up?"
Big head? Well, he did seem to have kind of an ego, even before he did the whole raging storm of muscle and fury bit. As for tangoing with the Hulk, who knows, it could have happened. It'd make sense. They'd be in the same weight class. Like he says, though, his past history isn't exactly relevant right now. All that's pertinent is that he hits like a freight train.
"...let's find out," I say, and make an attempt to wake up my muscles and push myself to a sitting position. They clearly don't like waking up. There's a lot of protests. "Uch, ow, my... everything."
I'm doing better with focusing. Definitely outdoors. Trees and things. Remnants of sunlight. It's a pleasant late afternoon in who the heck knows where-ville.
Comments 104
That's a misleading statement. For one, it looks entirely too calm. It needs some jazzing up -- an emphasis or two, maybe a good ol' exclamation mark. Because the thing is, there is a body in front of my house. And given the day I've had, it's the perfect rotten cherry on top of a pretty sour sundae. One year, it's been, since Norman Osborn painted the Island red -- as far as anniversaries go, this isn't one I would've ever chosen to celebrate, for reasons that are glaringly obvious. The image of Kendra Shaw's face moments before I chose to let her fall to her death has been permanently burned into my mind's eye for twelve whole months, now, and there's a second -- just a second, but that's plenty long for something like this, trust me -- where I wonder if it isn't her body sprawled over the ground. As I get closer, though -- I'm running, by now, of course I'm running -- it quickly becomes apparent that that isn't the case. Her hair's not as dark, though it's hard to tell if it's brown or red in ( ... )
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Not just any light, either, like a bulb that's been straight-up crushed, which is about how my head feels, like it's full of shards of broken glass and one burning filament. It's work, getting my bearings, and at first all I can manage is the sound of a voice. It's familiar, and it's probably why I don't immediately freak out on realizing something's got my arm restrained.
Hand. That's a hand. Not cuffs, or restraints, or a straitjacket. Probably a good sign, and it's backed up when I open my eyes. I don't get a very clear picture of the world, it's very blurry. It has yet to resolve itself, which is probably appropriate. Fits my knowledge of the situation. But there's only one blurry figure, and it's definitely not Hulk 2: Hulk Harder. Definitely not in Roxxon, either, I'm outdoors, which is... ( ... )
Reply
"As in Samuel Sterns? The guy with the big head, tangos with the Hulk?" All of a beat passes before I realize the more important piece of information she's just given me, though, even if my confusion becomes more pronounced because of it. "Wait, you said good, does that mean--?"
I want to ask if she knows me -- I mean, it's pretty clear I don't know her, there's no point in getting that much cleared up -- but that's really not my biggest concern right now, is it? Shaking my head, I scoff, adding, "Never mind, not important. Can you sit up?"
Reply
"...let's find out," I say, and make an attempt to wake up my muscles and push myself to a sitting position. They clearly don't like waking up. There's a lot of protests. "Uch, ow, my... everything."
I'm doing better with focusing. Definitely outdoors. Trees and things. Remnants of sunlight. It's a pleasant late afternoon in who the heck knows where-ville.
Reply
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