Allcure
The One and Only
Wait for it...
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Fandom Marvel: Avengers Contingency
- Thread starter Allcure
- Start date
Rellwen
I Stole This Line So You Wouldn't Know I'm Lame
One of the first lectures –among the droves of them- Thrax had been given upon arriving at shield was a thorough and informative briefing on the general mechanics of Terran time keeping. So he knew, for sure, that time was a static increment here. Even knowing it was ticking by just as quickly as any other time it still felt like it was crawling along at a snail’s pace.
The meeting was at ten-thirty AM.
Measured steps paced the small S.H.I.E.L.D issue dorm room in anxious anticipation. He’d never been to this particular facility before so the furniture was the sparse functional standard issue ensemble found in all rooms. A few personal items peppered the desk and bed. His right hand came up to fiddle with the watch on his opposite wrist. A dull flash chased up the contours of the mechanical arm heralding the transfer of data. The light was muted but still vaguely visible through his sleeve. It was through this data transfer that Thrax knew, without glimpsing the display, that the watch read “9:43”.
With a frustrated huff he flopped onto the bed. The ceiling took all of half a second to get boring. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how early was too early? Terran customs dictate that being early is better than being late. Certain situations dictate that one should plan to arrive before the agreed upon time, like work shifts or weddings, was this one of those times? Thrax was unsure.
What he needed was a time waster. After a few seconds tick by Thrax stood up and did an inventory. He checked himself over in his small mirror. The thick fall of white hair was held out of his face with two little braids on each side of his head that pulled back and met in the middle where all four were woven together. Maybe he could do a more intensive style? But then again that would kind of defeat the whole point of choosing a masculine body for this meeting. And messing around with hair was just so much work. He wore a heavy long sleeve shirt that hugged his body - S.H.I.E.L.D seemed fond of their form fitted clothes. Twin patches adorned the shoulders emblazoned with the strange bird logo. The pants were less tight but equally uninteresting and colorless.
Thrax picked up his tablet, checking to make sure the internet capability was turned off. He knew it was. He was very careful with stuff like that now. One trip to the infirmary was quite enough thank you very much. But it was something to do. Next he tucked his small notebook and pen into the utility belt he had strapped on. It was unlikely that he’s need it but better safe than sorry right? All normal equipment was present and accounted for. There was no more he could do with his hair or clothing.
Metal fingers danced over the watch again. 9:51.
“I’m going to get old and die in this room.” He lamented with a groan.
Finally the boredom won out and Thrax grabbed the ever hated translation collar. It was an evil horrible creation of science that Thrax was making every effort to render obsolete. Learning English was difficult, but he was making progress. He could passably introduce himself and say ‘I only speak a little bit of English.’ So that was something. He was beginning to understand quite a bit more on his own, but he needed the translator to have any real conversations. Flesh hand pre-emptively rubbed at the parts of his neck that would be sore later. Stupid language barriers.
He clicked the collar into place. Metal hand scanned for battery life. The little light whizzed upwards. It wasn’t full battery but it should do for now. Doing one final quick visual scan for anything potentially forgotten, he exited into the hallway. Tablet in his right hand, he initiated a connection to the device. Light blinked up and down the arm so steadily it appeared to be pulsing. He brought up a map and headed towards the designated conference room. It was an unfamiliar place but Thrax walked the halls with an ease born of a traveller’s life style. He was always in new places. He offered the strange closed mouth smile he’d been practicing to anyone he passed. Apparently pointed teeth were disturbing to some of the agents. His natural smile – a hearty grin- was ‘creepy’ and ‘shark like’. Thrax thought that was kind of ridiculous considering they’re totally cool with a guy who turns into a huge enraged beast, and an assassin with a particularly dubious track record, but whatever. He did his best to make people comfortable around him in this organization. If that meant keeping his teeth out of sight then so be it.
Check the time. 9:56.
The meeting was at ten-thirty AM.
Measured steps paced the small S.H.I.E.L.D issue dorm room in anxious anticipation. He’d never been to this particular facility before so the furniture was the sparse functional standard issue ensemble found in all rooms. A few personal items peppered the desk and bed. His right hand came up to fiddle with the watch on his opposite wrist. A dull flash chased up the contours of the mechanical arm heralding the transfer of data. The light was muted but still vaguely visible through his sleeve. It was through this data transfer that Thrax knew, without glimpsing the display, that the watch read “9:43”.
With a frustrated huff he flopped onto the bed. The ceiling took all of half a second to get boring. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how early was too early? Terran customs dictate that being early is better than being late. Certain situations dictate that one should plan to arrive before the agreed upon time, like work shifts or weddings, was this one of those times? Thrax was unsure.
What he needed was a time waster. After a few seconds tick by Thrax stood up and did an inventory. He checked himself over in his small mirror. The thick fall of white hair was held out of his face with two little braids on each side of his head that pulled back and met in the middle where all four were woven together. Maybe he could do a more intensive style? But then again that would kind of defeat the whole point of choosing a masculine body for this meeting. And messing around with hair was just so much work. He wore a heavy long sleeve shirt that hugged his body - S.H.I.E.L.D seemed fond of their form fitted clothes. Twin patches adorned the shoulders emblazoned with the strange bird logo. The pants were less tight but equally uninteresting and colorless.
Thrax picked up his tablet, checking to make sure the internet capability was turned off. He knew it was. He was very careful with stuff like that now. One trip to the infirmary was quite enough thank you very much. But it was something to do. Next he tucked his small notebook and pen into the utility belt he had strapped on. It was unlikely that he’s need it but better safe than sorry right? All normal equipment was present and accounted for. There was no more he could do with his hair or clothing.
Metal fingers danced over the watch again. 9:51.
“I’m going to get old and die in this room.” He lamented with a groan.
Finally the boredom won out and Thrax grabbed the ever hated translation collar. It was an evil horrible creation of science that Thrax was making every effort to render obsolete. Learning English was difficult, but he was making progress. He could passably introduce himself and say ‘I only speak a little bit of English.’ So that was something. He was beginning to understand quite a bit more on his own, but he needed the translator to have any real conversations. Flesh hand pre-emptively rubbed at the parts of his neck that would be sore later. Stupid language barriers.
He clicked the collar into place. Metal hand scanned for battery life. The little light whizzed upwards. It wasn’t full battery but it should do for now. Doing one final quick visual scan for anything potentially forgotten, he exited into the hallway. Tablet in his right hand, he initiated a connection to the device. Light blinked up and down the arm so steadily it appeared to be pulsing. He brought up a map and headed towards the designated conference room. It was an unfamiliar place but Thrax walked the halls with an ease born of a traveller’s life style. He was always in new places. He offered the strange closed mouth smile he’d been practicing to anyone he passed. Apparently pointed teeth were disturbing to some of the agents. His natural smile – a hearty grin- was ‘creepy’ and ‘shark like’. Thrax thought that was kind of ridiculous considering they’re totally cool with a guy who turns into a huge enraged beast, and an assassin with a particularly dubious track record, but whatever. He did his best to make people comfortable around him in this organization. If that meant keeping his teeth out of sight then so be it.
Check the time. 9:56.
RiddleWrappedEnigma
A miserable little pile of secrets
Xander sits in his room. As usual he has four different types of music blaring out of his room's speakers, two TVs sowing two differentiating programs on maximum sound, and a good book in his hand. As usual these do little to distract his mind from the voices that rise every now and then from the river of white noise surging through his brain.
A group of agents walk past the door to his room. They move silently, as they are trained, but Xander hears. One of them's pissed off at this little stuck up prick who plays loud music in the early morning. Another doesn't think they should have these freaks on the helicarrier, they're dangerous and they aren't needed. A third is having an affair with his friend's wife.
Xander rolls his eyes and stops listening. He pushes his mind out, down to the sub-levels, the labs. He hears one of the scientists. They're supposed to be working on a cure for him. That was the deal. They aren't though. He's too useful like this as an asset. Xander frowns. The new polymer they had been working on wobbles slightly before toppling over, container smashing and spilling the liquid over the desk.
Satisfied, Xander pulls his mind back towards his body but overshoots, going back and above, exploring the upper levels. The control room, mild levels of stress, they are controlling this thing after all. One guy is playing Galaga. Xander shakes his head and pushes on. The Director's office. Half a dozen subordinates, terrified of him. Big man, big dreams, done terrible things. Honest though. Xander smiles, he will get his cure. Xander then tilts his head, continuing to listen. A team, bringing them up soon, ten thirty.
Xander's mind returns to his body and he begins to get ready. He checks the time. 10:00, they should send an agent to pick him up in twenty minutes. They don't trust him to go alone, he could learn things. Xander smirks.
A group of agents walk past the door to his room. They move silently, as they are trained, but Xander hears. One of them's pissed off at this little stuck up prick who plays loud music in the early morning. Another doesn't think they should have these freaks on the helicarrier, they're dangerous and they aren't needed. A third is having an affair with his friend's wife.
Xander rolls his eyes and stops listening. He pushes his mind out, down to the sub-levels, the labs. He hears one of the scientists. They're supposed to be working on a cure for him. That was the deal. They aren't though. He's too useful like this as an asset. Xander frowns. The new polymer they had been working on wobbles slightly before toppling over, container smashing and spilling the liquid over the desk.
Satisfied, Xander pulls his mind back towards his body but overshoots, going back and above, exploring the upper levels. The control room, mild levels of stress, they are controlling this thing after all. One guy is playing Galaga. Xander shakes his head and pushes on. The Director's office. Half a dozen subordinates, terrified of him. Big man, big dreams, done terrible things. Honest though. Xander smiles, he will get his cure. Xander then tilts his head, continuing to listen. A team, bringing them up soon, ten thirty.
Xander's mind returns to his body and he begins to get ready. He checks the time. 10:00, they should send an agent to pick him up in twenty minutes. They don't trust him to go alone, he could learn things. Xander smirks.
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