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View character profile for: Clarisse Potts
View character profile for: Kristoff Vernard
Search For the Treasure of One Eyed Willie [Part II]
[Joint Post between Megumichi and OhManMyBad]
“I'm sorry, but Theodosia Maximoff is an Avenger, and this is the Avenger's Tower, yes? I thought it was a reasonable speculation that I might find her here. Do you know where else I could look? Unfortunately her Sanctum cannot be located on Google Maps.” Kris stepped away from the door, expecting that the voice on the other side would emerge at any moment.
“PFFT,” she couldn’t even restrain her laughter at his mistake. Avenger’s Tower? Yes. Theo the Avenger? Fuck no. They weren't the Avengers. That particular team was extinct, replaced with a couple of delusional copycats who didn’t even possess a sense of identity. They were just carbon copies of whatever superhero they’d been sired by. Doing what had already been done before didn’t make them equal to the world-saving Avengers. It was pretty sad, how people actually thought they were heroes. As if that term even held any value, given that Theo had BLASTED HER FUCKING DOOR AND THEN PROCEEDED TO CALL HER NAMES. While breaking and entering. Fantastic heroes, they were.
“You’re not wrong. They don’t get to be the Avengers though. ‘Case you didn’t notice, they don’t even get to rot in the soil.” This was beginning to seem like a waste of her time. Theo, Theo, always Theo and the Misadvengers. She was gonna write that particular word play down somewhere. Maybe she could use it on the internet. “Besides, which one’s your parent? Since they seem to love that subject so much. Also, can you just come in and give me the can? My throat is starting to fucking sting like a scorpion.”
Kris opened the door and stepped into the room. The odor inside was peculiar, not foul, but definitely peculiar. The inhabitant of this particular dormitory definitely aired a slovenly, vulgar demeanor. Though, that was the case with most people. Kris turned to his right and saw the girl sitting on her bed, mostly concealed behind the blanket.
“Here you are miss, sorry to intrude. My parents… uhm well my mother passed away when I was a child and I never really knew my father.” This wasn't necessarily a lie, since Victor had adopted him. He did not, in fact, know who his biological father was.
Finallyyyyy. Thank the Lord for ginger beer. How could she live without it’s bitter, beautiful, bubbly flavour? She popped the can open and practically chugged it, stopping only to breathe before continuing to gulp it down. She listened simultaneously, but by the time she’d consumed the entire thing (in record speed no doubt) she had the hiccups. Like, really bad hiccups. They started remarkably quickly. Shit, she probably shouldn’t have been in such a hurry. Patience wasn’t a particularly strong suit for Clarisse.
Anyway, parent thing. Or rather, the definite lack of it. “Hmmm? That’s a new one.” An amused smirk stretched across her cheeks. “Gotta be a lie or something. Every damn time anyone named or naming Theo drops in, it’s always “MY PARENT WAS A SUPERHERO AND SO WAS YOURS, SO OK LET’S BE HEROES!” Feel free to admit to your bullshit before it’s too late.” Not that she was expecting him to or nothing. None of the others had even recognized how stupid their identities were.
“I assure you miss, neither of my parents were heroes. I will admit that I have deceived you by omission, though moreso to your benefit than mine. I feel as though my presence here has caused you some discomfort. Perhaps I should leave, but if you can tell me where I might find the sorceress I would greatly appreciate it.. oh and if you'd like to solve your hiccup problem, hold your breath and swallow twice. It will reset the pressure in your diaphragm.”
Wise words, in her opinion. Well, maybe not to him, but heroes didn’t really exist. Maybe to one people, but they were far too subjective. Maybe Hitler had been a real swell hero to unrepresented opinions and those who held them. Didn’t stop her from using it as an insult whenever she met a German whose guts she would pay for. Could probably afford too, given that the Potts family was stinking rich. Anyway, heroes! To be fair, those people were pretty shitty themselves, but still. The point she was trying to emphasize was that she hated Theo and everything her gang stood for. They didn’t actually seem to have any stakes aside from their family legacy on the line. Where was the portal in the sky for them to blast to smithereens? How about the massive armies attempting to destroy the USA? Oh right, they didn’t fucking exist.
“...I really don’t know. Whenever she or the not-Avengers dropped in, they just kinda appeared. But take my word here, you don’t wanna go looking for that cunt. She’s just a crazy person preparing for an enemy that she cannot prove the existence of. ‘Sides, apparently she’s only looking for hero genes. Hero copycats, more specifically. Like, not me.”
Kris raised an eyebrow, it was clear the girl, whoever she was, had a serious contempt for Theodosia. “I see, duly noted. If you don't have the hero gene as you put it, then why would the sorceress proposition you as you've not-so-subtly alluded to? If she truly is only seeking the progeny of Avengers, why you?” Of course Kris knew the answer to that question as soon as he asked it, but to be honest it wasn't something that had occurred to him given his mind was elsewhere. “Never mind, I think I already know. I'm searching for her because, frankly, I have nowhere else to go. I do appreciate your help miss.”
He thought he knew, huh? Well, whatever picture he had in his mind could stay there. That wasn’t really what caught her eye nor sapped some genuine pity from the girl. Maybe it was pretty obvious, given that she was residing on the same floor as her father had before her. What he thought of her was of importance, since she was having rising feelings of self-consciousness in front of all those disapproving voices that kept popping into her head. But having nowhere else to go just seemed...more important. Pretty pitiful actually.
“The only place, eh? Bullshit.” She stated apathetically, questioning whether or not this was a good idea. On one hand, she still didn’t know ‘nothin about this guy. On the other hand, she was really fucking lonely and she was starting to feel it. Her old desperations were beginning to chew up her insides. Someone to relate to, someone she could understand. She was fed up with feeling like the only person on Earth who felt the things that she did. Feeling like no one liked her, and also that attempting to reason with them was a waste of her less than valuable time. Y’know what, fuck it. There was always the baseball bat. “Crack yourself a can and make yourself at home, if you wanna. Better than stooping to the level of those nutters.”
Kris cocked his head to the side, perplexed by this sudden invitation. Up until now this girl seemed revolted at the notion of camaraderie and now she was clearly seeking some. Ah, it occurred to him just then what that smell was. Combined that with the moaning he heard while approaching the door and he realized that this girl was just depressed. Some people just craved the dopamine, not the arousal. She didn't enjoy being patronized, but considering that he was likely the first person she'd conversed with to completely avoid the topic of her father, perhaps he had a stronger friend appeal. She'd mentioned a constant pressure to assume her father's mantle, such an antithetical concept to him. Kris spent his life desperately trying to avoid his father's legacy, but for a completely different reason. He understood that weight, that constant, suffocating weight. Honestly, he had nowhere else to be. So why not have a drink with the lady? Oh, yeah… he's in an invisible mechanized battle armor and physically cannot drink without revealing it to her. Should he? He'd already lied by omission once, perhaps not the best way to start any sort of working relationship with someone.
“I will have a drink with you, but in order to do so I have to reveal something that will most definitely alarm you. Certainly it will alter the course of this conversation, but I just want you to have a fair warning.”
She didn’t like to be patronized, sure. She also didn’t like to be read so easily, despite her not being an expert on masking her feelings. Vulnerability was a strange thing. It required a degree of trust and mental strength that she simply did not possess. Yeah, so she was lonely and socially isolated. It was easier to just block out the fact than deal with it though. She wasn’t going back to school, and she definitely wasn’t gonna bother with college. Hell, she probably didn’t stand a chance of being accepted into tertiary education. The only stage of her schooling that hadn’t cost her an expulsion was when she was an itty bitty kid, and even then she distinctly recalled being called to the principal’s office on multiple occasions for getting revenge on the dickish little kiddies who’d torn up her homework once. She’d really enjoyed watching them suffer for their actions, but it hadn’t exactly been a productive way of life. Had really gone downhill from there as well.
Whatever, the point was, she didn’t fucking care. At least, she was trying not to. Arg, being an only child was the worst. This entire stinking place was silent, dull and only possessed material company for her to “cherish”. Like this stupid fucking laptop with her stupid fucking games, her stupid fucking porn and nothing that actually lit a spark inside her. “Whatever, go ahead. Whatever weird superhero shit you’ve got, I have a 65% chance of not freaking out over it.”
Kris nodded at her, then stepped back extending his arms as if he were about to be nailed to a cross (which was less of an anology than he liked it to be). The mirrors on his armor lapsed and suddenly he was half a foot taller and donning the infamous Von Doom armor from head to toe. The breastplate hissed as it disengaged from the frame, raising up and allowing Kris to exit the armor. As he stepped down the only thing remaining was that helmet. With his hand still extended, a beer came sailing into the room slapping his palm and then appearing to open itself.
“And the other 35%?” He asked wryly.