[ pietro's memories feel like fragments at this point, his last moments lost in a haze. it's hard to say how he got here, really, or where here might be.
what he does know is he's broken.
his speed seemingly gone. his sister... who knows where. did she make it off that flying death trap? did they accomplish what they set out to do?
the empty roads he wanders down offer no answers. so it feels like a blessed event when he finally takes note of an old-school phone booth off the side of the road. the door creaks upon opening, graffiti etched into the wood of the phone's casing.
he doesn't hear anyone approach, and yet there's suddenly a sharp rap on the glass by his head, a short man with a smug little smile staring through the pane at him.
he cheekily holds up a quarter pinched between two fingers, and pietro would be able to hear him ask, muffled by the booth: ] No one carries change these days.
no subject
what he does know is he's broken.
his speed seemingly gone. his sister... who knows where. did she make it off that flying death trap? did they accomplish what they set out to do?
the empty roads he wanders down offer no answers. so it feels like a blessed event when he finally takes note of an old-school phone booth off the side of the road. the door creaks upon opening, graffiti etched into the wood of the phone's casing.
he doesn't hear anyone approach, and yet there's suddenly a sharp rap on the glass by his head, a short man with a smug little smile staring through the pane at him.
he cheekily holds up a quarter pinched between two fingers, and pietro would be able to hear him ask, muffled by the booth: ] No one carries change these days.