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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND SIXTEEN WILL OPEN ON TUESDAY THE 25TH.
ROUND FIFTEEN
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DISCUSSION POST
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!
LIST OF REQUIRED WARNINGS: ableism, abuse, bestiality, bullying, ( Read more... )
"Lola's in the shop, and Phil was talking about taking a bus home. We're gonna surprise him."
"We're going into the city?" Peter asked, "That's where Dad works, right?"
"Yup. And it's rush hour, so this might not be the most fun outing we've ever had. Sorry," Clint grimaced.
"But wait. Can we go to the Met? There might be time to... And we could get dinner at La Caridad. Clint, Clint, please. I *love* New York, and I miss it. Can we just..."
"Slow down, Petey." Clint interrupted, going quiet as he merged with the already traffic-heavy interstate. "OK, so... I missed some of that, but..." Clint held up his hand briefly as Peter started to repeat himself. "But I got the gist. We'll see what state Phil's in, and we'll see about spending some time in the city. There'll be time for dinner, minimum. I promise."
"Yes!" Peter tried not to punch the roof of Clint's car as he fist-pumped the air.
The excitement trailed off fairly quickly as the traffic jammed up and they slowed to a crawl. Peter pulled his assigned reading out of his school bag and settled in. They were most of the way into town, the traffic thinning as people filtered off, when Clint made an odd choked noise and there was a cacophony of horns and squealing tyres around them.
Peter looked out of the windscreen only to find all the drivers around them staring straight out across the city, some of them pointing and waving and hardly any eyes on the road. Peter tracked their gazes out and saw almost immediately what was drawing their attention, the traffic pulling to an uneven halt.
There was an uncertain moment as Peter watched Clint's knee jump in place, trying to brake, before he muttered what Peter was fairly sure was a swear under his breath and pushed hard on the lever. They skidded to an abrupt stop, both staring up through the windscreen as Clint knocked the car into park.
"Is that a mothership?" Peter asked breathlessly, taking in the hulk of machinery hovering in the far distance. "Is it another invasion?"
"Peter, pull out your phone," Clint said, already texting on his own phone. Peter was finding it hard to take his eyes off the ship over the New York skyline. "Call your Dad, tell him what we can see, alright?"
"Why does Dad need to know?" Peter asked, glancing at the opposite carriageway at the streams of cars fleeing the city. "Can't we just..."
"Dad's at *work* Peter," Clint said, his voice strained. "He's out under that, and he doesn't have transport."
Peter glanced back and forth between Clint and the ship. "You're not seriously... you're going to go towards..." The call connected in his hand and he pressed his cell to his ear.
"Tell me you're not where your cell says you are," were Phil's first words. It was against a backdrop of shouting and what sounded worryingly like a helicopter.
"We came to pick you up from work," Peter offered weakly. "Have you seen..."
"Are you in Clint's car? Of course you are, I should have known he'd..." Phil stopped talking, and the background noise went tinny. "Look, you and Clint need to go home, Petey. Now. No questions. Turn around and go home."
Clint finished whatever he was doing on his own phone, throwing it onto the dash and putting the car back into drive. "Phil, the helicarrier is visible over New York," he shouted at Peter's cell, grimacing an apology as Peter flinched a little at the volume. Around them, cars were going the wrong way down the road as the stream of traffic turned into a panic-snarled traffic jam.
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