(no subject)

[likeamonster]

[There are monstrous roars, followed by human-esque groans of pain and deep panting from the alleyway. Follow it and you'll find an exhausted man huddled against a dumpster, pulling an abandoned jacket around himself. What do you do?

A. Offer some money and your own jacket?
B. Run the fuck away because HOLY SHIT WHAT WERE THOSE ROARS?
C. Help bring him to the nearest motel for a soft blanket, warm soup, and maybe sex in the shower?
D. Sit by him and tell him your life woes because its not like he's going anywhere?]

Comments

E. Talk at him because he's there.

[moralimperative]

[The city's in quite a state; overturned cars and broken glass littering the streets while unchecked flames burn merrily away to the sound of emergency response teams spread too thin.

Glass and gravel crunching underfoot, Chris pads his way through the streets in flip-flops and pajama pants as though it were any other evening. A breeze catches the long ends of the scarf wound around his neck, jostling one from over his shoulder, and it's as he's tossing it back again that he notices the strange man hidden away in the alley to his side.

It's less a moment of indecision than it is a flourish of a heel turn before he's standing next to the stranger in question, and only a moment longer before he falls backwards against the brick wall making up one side of the alleyway and slides to sit beside the stranger. He takes his hands out of his pockets as he does, fiddling with the ends of his scarf for a moment before switching to twiddling his thumbs.

He's very much as casual as if they both just so happened to be waiting at the same bus stop.

And then, apropos of nothing:] Have you ever had a cereal and strawberry jam turkey sandwich? I've tried a few different types of cereal flakes are definitely key-- I mean, sure, puffs would work, but crushing them before you start just to get the bread together really defeats the purpose of having cereal in a sandwich to begin with.

[likeamonster]

[Betty had saved him, Hulk had provided a distraction. He'd have to thank them both later. While everyone else had watching the Jolly Green hop off, he'd managed to escape. Only cracking bones shifting back into appropriate places and sudden exhaustion had made him stop.

His nostrils flared when he sensed someone nearby, and despite his exhaustion, his eyes were raptor sharp. He tensed, burrowed deeper into his coat. Not strong enough to fight, much less move. This one didn't seem like a threat though. Manner of dress said eccentric, harmless, possibly idiot.

That statement gets more of Blonsky's attention, and a look that clearly questioned his sanity. Out loud he offered a cautious reply.]

Can't say I have. [A beat. Two breaths. Then, curiosity gets the better of him.] Why would you want to digest such an atrocity?

[moralimperative]

I was hungry. [He says it offhand, as though that explains everything.

A brief pause, presumably to allow that thought to set in, and then Blonsky receives an equally questioning look in return.] Don't you eat?

[likeamonster]

Yes. I do. Just not things that will destroy me later. [Spoken after a brief pause and he continued to watch the younger man. Eccentric, yes, he'd been right about that. But Blonsky isn't so sure about 'idiot' anymore.] Do you always strike up conversations with strange men in dark alleyways?

[moralimperative]

Usually only on bank holidays. [It's an immediate response, though given to a fixed point somewhere in mid-distance.

His attention wheels back around like a tangible thing, refocusing on the man beside him.] Do you always hang around dark alleyways in the guise of a strange man?

[likeamonster]

[Blonsky is not even going to attempt to decipher that.] Only when I don't have a choice. Saw a lot of army sorts about, did you? They might be looking for me.

[A not-so subtle attempt to get this strange man Far Away so he could devise some feasible plan of escape. First order of business would be locating clothes.]

[moralimperative]

Oh, good! [Say hello to immediately-perked interest.] Did you infiltrate a military base and sabotage their top secret weapons system? I did that once. Got a job out of it, too-- or, well, I lost the job. I un-created the job. You know how it goes.

[likeamonster]

What? [His mind's trying to catch up. Suddenly he has a teenager interested in him because he's a fugitive. That was the exact opposite reaction he'd wanted.]

No. I was... [He shook his head, before pinching the bridge of his nose. Static memories weren't so static anymore. The coat was down to his waist now. Still covering important bits, but quite obvious it was all he had for now. Blonsky gestures to street.]

See all that? Mostly me. Had a bit of a fight.

[moralimperative]

[He surveys the damage as though seeing it for the first time. Considering how bad it looks, that he only raises his eyebrows is perhaps not a proportionately appropriate response.] Impressive.

In my experience the sabotage route resulted in a lot less property damage. Or more centralized damage. [Pause.] Are you disguised as a flasher or is that just next on the agenda after fighting the military? Your day planner must look interesting.

[likeamonster]

[It was his turn to raise his brows, a slight head tilt in Chris's direction.] How the bloody hell--no, nevermind. I don't want to know. Not from you. This is not a disguise. Right now, this is hell.

[One that he's stuck in, with an annoying gnat of an eccentric... something. He hasn't decided on what to call him yet. He surveys the alley. Buildings weren't too tall, and had he the strength, he could scale them easily. Burrow into an empty room for the night.

But he lacked... well, everything at this point. He licks his lips, considers his options. Those, too, were very limited.]

You from around here? Know of a place we could-

[His words, breathing, everything stops. He's tense, listening to sounds that, very soon, Chris would hear as well: footsteps. Two soldiers, stances indicating weapons drawn. Blonsky leans in close to Chris, quickly hisses in his ear:]

You rat me out and you'll be dead before they get me.

[Then with surprising speed given his state of exhaustion, he's diving into the dumpster, dignity be damned, and huddles into a corner. Not twenty seconds later a bright flashlight would shine down the alleyway, followed soon by an authoritative, though tired, voice.]

Hey, uh... you there! Kid! Seen a giant--shit, Steve, you know how this sounds? Whatever. A giant uh... monster thing? Or a man about... this tall? Bad hair, British accent?

[moralimperative]

[Sorry, Blonsky, 'eccentric something' is about as far as anyone's ever gotten with that. He doesn't seem overly perturbed by the threat, which all in all is probably good for both of them when the soldiers round the corner with their flashlight. Chris just smiles pleasantly at them.]

Not since graduation. [He answers the first portion of their inquiry in that vague offhand way he has. One of the soldiers shifts awkwardly on his feet, muttering something that's unintelligible from this distance. Before they can say anything else, though, Chris speaks up again.] Brit with bad hair, though, I saw him just a little while ago. I don't get what all the fuss is about, really-- I mean sure he's good, but there are plenty of other people who can play piano, it's not like they're hard to come by.

[The soldiers are, understandably, thrown for a moment by the apparent non sequitur. Chris frowns at them, like somehow they're the ones wasting his time.] On television? What are you talking about?