boxofdactyls | the return of the revenge of just rp it.

how to play.

1. Drop a comment with one or more of your muses. It can be empty if you want me to make a scenario, or you can toss one at me. Prompts are boss. (a word, song, lyric, picture, phrase, a meme prompt, anything). Specify if there's something you do or don't want, otherwise I could throw anything at you: AUs, shippiness, awfulness. You've been warned, son.
1b. If you want to continue a verse we started in another thread somewhere, specify it in the comment or subject line. I'd be down for revisiting any of those.

2. In the subject line, you can specify any of my muses you might want to play with (including OCs, who have their own list), or you can ask me to pick someone. No muses are off-limits except for those that have no icon uploaded on the list. Otherwise, I'll pick or randomize someone.
2b. Muses I would really love to play right now, in case you are having a hard time choosing: Hawke, Hannibal Lecter, Selina Kyle, Fox Mulder, Cigarette Smoking Man, Serafina, Pepper Potts, Lois Lane, Jacen Solo.

3. just rp with me. if something jives really well, maybe we can continue it in another one of these later, sort of like a super casual verse. if it doesn't, it doesn't.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Also, I won't be mad if you'd prefer to scrap these and use your own prompts ok.]

[ 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.

[The rapping on the glass succeeds in snapping him out of at least some of the haze that makes up his thoughts following the long, slow trek across ... wherever this was. There were still many things that made no sense to him, or that he couldn't piece together for whatever reason. How he came to be here, for instance. If nothing else, the abrupt appearance of another individual succeeds in silencing his thoughts and placing his focus squarely back in the here and now.

Blue eyes flicker from the unfamiliar man's face to the silver coin that he carries, and Pietro absently begins to search for a similar item within his own pockets to no avail. He was not carrying anything on him, it seems. Lacking the means to make a phone call, he instead places the telephone receiver gently back onto its cradle. His movements appear to be deliberately slow, as though made by someone who is not entirely aware of what they are doing--perhaps due to the fragmentation of his memories and jumbled thoughts.

He pulls it together enough to open the door to the phone booth again, though he is obviously unsure what to make of this man. It didn't help that he no longer seemed to have access to his abilities for whatever reason, leaving him much more vulnerable than he would care to feel at the moment.]

So it would seem.

Lucky for you I was passing through, hmm? [ he steps in front of the open door, tosses the coin to him with a flick of his wrist ] Only enough for one phone call. Best use it wisely.

Pietro catches the coin easily enough. Even without his super speed he ain't that inept ok. But there is literally nothing else around. No vehicles, no houses. It's just more road, a lot of nature, and the phone booth. How did this guy even get here? It just seemed really odd to him. Not to say that he wasn't grateful for the coin, but he honestly wasn't even sure who he could call. His sister was the obvious choice but this shit ain't gonna cover no international calls.

"Where are we?" Because it sho nuff wasn't Sokovia.

Iowa. [ he doesn't question for a moment why pietro would be asking, simply answers with glib distaste, shoving his hands back into the pocket of his black coat. ] If the utter lack of scenery didn't half give it away.

[Excuse him, but he has never actually been to Iowa before. And from the looks of it, he would likely never be returning here again either. Also wtf ignore the random format change there wtf. I tagged that pretty late last night and apparently I was tripping balls.]

How did I get here?

[No really, his memory may have been fuzzy but he was sure that he had been on top of a floating chunk of his country last he checked. It may have traveled a little, sure, but there was no way it could traveled far enough to have placed him over the center of the United States.

And even then, how did he reach the ground without going splat? Color him hella confused.]

[ /pats ur head s'all good in the hood ] You're asking me? I was merely in the right place at the right time, for a man who seems to be in need.

It was fortunate that you were.

[But he still doesn't know wtf is going on and he doesn't like it. He looks at the coin that he was given, and then back up at the man who gave it to him. Is there more where that came from Mr. Money Bags because twenty five cent won't even make a local call on a payphone these days.

Pietro places the coin into the payphone, but he hesitates because he honestly doesn't know who to call. Assuming his sister survived, it was unlikely that he would be able to get through to her even with the proper funds. He didn't know anyone who lived in America though--and those he knew of were all involved were all in the same boat as Wanda.]

A man in need with nowhere to turn, then? [ what a convenient interpretation of his hesitation. ] Interesting.

[Yeah, that's super suspect, and Pietro finds himself turning to look back while narrowing his gaze at this man as if to better scrutinize what he had up until now assumed was merely a good samaritan who happened to be at the right place at exactly the right time. ~~This sweet summer child.~~]

I don't see how my situation would be "interesting" to anyone. [Please explain yourself, Satan.]

Look around, sweetheart. There isn't much else to hold one's interest way out here.

the return of the revenge of just rp it.

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