:o)

[monstermasher]

▶ WHO: Everyone!
▶ DATE: August 9th, evening (IC)
▶ WARNINGS: N/A yet.
▶ SUMMARY: A small mingle, for any purpose!

[ Good evening, everyone!

Well, actually it's not. It's raining—hard. Is it supposed to be? Who knows. But there's a thunderstorm rolling in, and zombies aren't immune to being struck by lightning.

Really, though—there's nothing entirely extraordinary about tonight. It's what you choose to make of it.

OOC: This is just a quick little mingle; your characters can be doing whatever you'd like! ARE THEY HUDDLING FOR SHELTER FROM THE STORM? REMINISCING ABOUT FOND RAINY DAY MEMORIES? IS THERE A MURDER GOING ON SOMEWHERE? ARE YOU STILL TRYING TO PIECE TOGETHER EVIDENCE OF WHY YOU'RE HERE? ]

Comments

OTA, any format!

[operatesolo]

a >> Vehicle Bay

He left, the moment he could comfortably do so without being accosted by --

His mind seizes up on the image of that worm-thing whenever he recalls it. The point is that he left, to see what kind of world existed outside of this bizarre little military death post. To find a blurry edge or a familiar feeling to say that yes, this is a dream. Yes, this is insanity.

What he found was more of those dead things. Zombies. A pop-culture word he'd never had real reason to use except in applying it to his superiors.

He's in the vehicle bay, tuning up the jeep he took and cleaning bits of rot and gore from the grill and wheel wells. Occasionally wincing, as he pulls something still healing or moves in a way that makes bruised bones grind.

He may have taken his feelings out on the walking dead.

b >> The Roof

Looking out at the empty world turns his stomach. Solo dislikes involuntary reactions. Thus, here he stands, slacks and a tidy button-up shirt, getting soaked through as he memorizes the landscape.

Maybe, somewhere, Kuryakin and Gabby are out there. It makes as much sense as Solo himself being here.

Besides, finding his partners - his associates - is better than standing here and waiting for something else to leave holes like bomb scars in the front lawn.

c >> Wildcard

He might be sniping zombies from the barracks walls, poking around near the (or in) the radio tower, or trying to figure out the computers and swearing in several languages. He could also be in the kitchen making magical smells out of mediocre supplies.

He's good at that.

b

[controlledvariable]

"Nice outfit, Supes."

It doesn't occur to her that it could be another man with Clark Kent's face, just like it doesn't occur to her that she's all but silent as she walks along the rooftop, because she'd assumed that Clark would've heard her approach.

Sorry Napoleon.

[operatesolo]

There's quiet, and then there's preternaturally quiet. Solo is very capable of being the latter when necessary. He's not at all used to other people being so.

All the same, he catches the movement of a stranger a half-second before she speaks. It isn't enough warning to keep him from an automatic reaction - a flick of the wrist, a slight raising of one hand. The sort of motion that would get a suit jacket clear of a shoulder holster, if he were wearing either one.

He continues to raise his hand, the motion a natural enough continuation that only someone with, you know, training, would notice that it wasn't all part of a single gesture. Napoleon brushes damp hair back from his face, squinting at the young woman, her costume, and shuttering his nerves away to be examined at a later date.

"I'm sorry, who? ...Oh. You're probably referring to the..." Solo thrusts out his chest slightly and gestures to it, where Superman's S would be. "No, I'm afraid he's still out there, somewhere, wearing his bedsheets."

[controlledvariable]

There's a moment of both wariness and confusion, where she sees that gesture and her body wants to react by dodging, but her brain is telling her that Superman doesn't use guns.

But then the man speaks, and it's mostly just confusion left. He has Superman's face, but he isn't Superman.

"Right," Yup, that's a very eloquent response, as Steph squints at Solo, "Who are you then?"

It's not accusatory, despite the words; she's just curious.

[operatesolo]

"James Donnelly." He offers her a hand that's calloused, with two fingers that have been broken in the past, though they were set well. There's still a slight, red welt from Rudi's electrocutions. He's prepared to pass off all of his recent injuries as being acquired here, somehow. He's been construction James Donnelly since he first said the name, in fact, and dropping into the persona takes only the flip of a mental switch. "Given your ensemble, I take it you're familiar with... Supes, you called him?"

[controlledvariable]

"Batgirl," She notes the injuries as she shakes his hand, but doesn't comment on them, because not everyone is exactly what they seem, and there's no need to push it on a first meeting, "And yeah, me and Superman are from a similar world, though he's younger than I'm used to."

[operatesolo]

"Batgirl and Superman." His tone is thoughtful rather than scornful. He gives her hand a light squeeze before letting it go. "Colorful names for colorful people."

James tucks fisted hands into his pockets, his smile rueful. "Younger - at least I'm not the only time traveler."

[controlledvariable]

"You manage to make that sound like an insult," But she's grinning just a little, like she's used to this kind of reaction, and she is. It's been an adjustment, meeting people who aren't familiar with vigilantes, but she can handle it.

[operatesolo]

"I've been told I can make anything sound like an insult." His own smile broadens into something more relaxed. "Are there many more like you two, here?"

[controlledvariable]

Now there's a talent that Steph can admire, "There's a few of us, especially Bats, which means they're kind of grumpy assholes."

Mostly just Bruce and Jason, but they're such grumpy assholes it kind of makes it fair to warn people.

"I think there were more, when we first all showed up, but it's hard to keep track of everyone."