milliways_bar | (no subject)

[Milliways Bar - A Short Time Ago In A Galaxy Far, Far Away]

Wendy Watson wears a lot of hats. Middleman-in-training, semi-abstract expressionist, fierce martial arts prodigy, deadly Gutwrencher III-trained sniper, Fatboy Ice Cream connoisseur ... the list goes on and on.

Tonight, the hat she's wearing is 'girl who can't wait to get out of this Eisenhower jacket.' This may explain why she walks into the bar, registers where she is, goes "Oh no," and turns around to leave.

It fails to explain why the door won't open again.

"Oh come on," she protests.

"I'm gonna be late to deconstruct romantic comedies with Lacey! Somebody has to speak truth to cinematic power."

The door seems unmoved by this appeal. It doesn't move, at any rate.

"Look, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it a whole bunch of hard ways."

Tough talking a door that may or may not be sentient?

Just a day in the life of a Middleman (in training).

[ooc: one newly-bound middleman at your service! open until i beg sleep/slowtime/etc. hit up artistformerlyknownas at gmail with questions/suggestions/scheming.]

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There's a superhero in a t-shirt and jeans—her clever civilian disguise—who observes Wendy's disagreement with the door.

"Need some help there? I wouldn't want you to miss Sleepless in Seattle."

"Sleepless in Seattle is safe tonight," Wendy assures the newcomer, without missing a beat.

"We're coming for My Best Friend's Wedding."

Or they're supposed to be.

"Ah, the timeless tale of two women fighting over a man."

Carol makes an "I just ate bad cheese" sort of face.

"Julia Roberts is a public menace," Wendy says, shaking her head.

(She appreciates the face.)

"And as concerned citizens, my roommate and I feel it's our duty to expose her crimes to the world at large."

Or ... to each other, eating pizza on the couch in their illegal sublet.

"Which makes it a real pain that the door's chosen now to go all Iron Curtain on me."

"It's your patriotic duty," says Carol, with a mock solemn nod.

She and Jessica have been known to engage in similar pastimes on their nights off.

"I could probably blast the door off its hinges."

Overkill?

"... Really?" says Wendy, hopefully and with faint traces of pyromania.

Carol answers with a broad smile.

"Yep!"

She raises a hand and points it at the door, then blasts off three hinges in quick succession, and after a moment's consideration, blasts the lock as well.

The door falls to the floor with a heavy THUD, pretty much as expected, revealing Carol's room in Avengers Mansion. She really ought to put away that pile of dirty laundry.

Wendy blinks.

Then she grins.

"Okay, that is unfairly cool."

... Of course, she's never seen that room before in her life, which is probably all for the best. The bossman would not be pleased if she let somebody blast their way through who knows how many dimensions and straight into HQ.

"I know, right?"

Some superheroes don't like to use their powers for everyday tasks. Carol is not one of them.

"Too bad it didn't really work. Unless your place is identical to mine." With an identical cat lounging at the end of the bed.

"There's too much paint and fake blood lying around my place for a free-range animal's digestive system to handle," Wendy deadpans.

"... Which means, no. But thanks for trying."

"Anytime. What kind of hero would I be if I didn't help a vampire performance artist in need?"

It's the best guess she's got right now. Sherlock Holmes she is not.

"Looks like you're stuck here. I've heard it happens."

"A+ deduction," says Wendy, whose mutant ability is not reading narration. (Her lips give a twitch of amusement.)

"But in this case, I'm not actually a vampire, and it's my roommate who's the performance artist. Did you say hero?"

"I did. One card carrying superhero, at your service."

Okay, now where did her ID card actually go? It takes a minute of fumbling around the various pockets of her jeans before she successfully locates her Ms. Marvel ID and whips it out for Wendy to see.

"It's kind of my job."