Heroes Go Wilde - Chapter 1
After way too many evenings of whining on Twitter, I finally present to you a ridiculously short bit of that thing I've been whining about. Which is basically an idea for a cracky oneshot gone horribly... wrong... or right, depending on how you view it. Anyway. Here goes a modern high school AU where the Avengers assemble to confront Loki, a bunch of typical teenagers' problems, and a staging of a play by Oscar Wilde. I hope you'll enjoy it. Or something.
Warning: potty mouths ahead.
A rumbling THUD! of a bunch of very heavy things falling down from a considerable height shook the floor. The lights went out. From the darkness came muffled moaning, followed by a string of curses. For a couple of seconds, footsteps pattered hastily in all directions, quite pointlessly given the fact that the running people could see next to nothing. When the lights flickered on again, the chaos caused by the unexpected disaster only escalated.
"Man down! Man down!"
The few actors present on the scene were already crowding around the feral spot, two of them trying to lift their technician to a more or less upright position. It wasn't an easy task, as the boy was clutching tight on the main light switch, refusing to take the helping hands offered to him, still a little dizzy from being knocked down by the fallen sandbags. Somehow, they managed to make him sit up - and that was all they could do at the moment, as his left leg was pinned down by the ponderous load. The technician grunted.
"Hey Erik, you all right?" Asked one of the students who pulled him up, a short, muscular senior with an ever-taut face. He bent down again to try and move the sandbags away, prompting the technician to spit another profanity.
"Leave it, Clint. Damn, it hurts like all hell…" Erik wrinkled his nose in a scowl. "Where is that sonova…?" He growled suddenly, craning his neck to see beyond the ring of concerned faces leaning over him. "Where is he? Odinson! For fuck's sake, I told you not to touch those ropes!" Erik's voice tumbled through the auditorium, reaching even the distant corner where the dark‑haired young man to whom the yell was addressed stood sulkily, arms crossed on his chest.
"And I told you they were messed up", Odinson countered, his eyes fixed on the floor. "This wouldn't have happened if you had just listened to me."
"This wouldn't have happened if you had just stuck to your job and kept the hell out of mine!" Shouted Erik. His voice, quavering with anger, made it quite clear he would have charged at Odinson this very second, had it not been for the sandbags weighting him down.
"Calm down, guys," a pretty, red-headed girl chipped in, casting a brief glimpse at their Drama Club director, who was just concluding the EMS call. "Let's not fight, shall we? It's already hard as it is, no need to jump at each other's throat."
"But he's right, Natasha," some sophomore actor protested. "Ever since we began the rehearsals, Loki's been bossing us all around like he knows better!"
"That's because I do know better," came a muted response from the dark corner. Natasha shot a stern look that way, but the sophomore's remark prompted the other actors to voice their own stifled complains, drowning them in the uproar of general discontent. Natasha sighed and threw a pleading glance at the director, who quickly shut his phone and headed towards the fussing and cussing cluster.
"The ambulance should arrive in a couple of minutes," he announced loudly to draw his students' attention. "Don't move, Selvig, your leg can be broken. They'll take proper care of you, no worries. Now, what seems to be the problem here?" He turned to the actors and put both hands on his hips to radiate the sort of concerned, fatherly authority the club members adored him for.
"There's our problem!" A couple of accusing fingers pointed in the general direction of the far corner where the dark figure of Loki Odinson stood unmoved since the beginning of the whole incident. "Princess Perfect over here apparently thinks this is his play," the rantering sophomore had heated up in the fire of the argument and appointed himself the spokesman of the group. "All he ever does is going around criticizing us and telling us what to do! These last two weeks've been a torture! We can't work like that, Mr. Coulson. He needs to go!" He concluded, gesturing fiercely towards Loki; Odinson was still leaning against the wall in his corner, motionless but for the eyes that now shifted from the floor to pierce his adversary with a cold blue stare. The other actors turned their eyes from one boy to the other as though they were watching a tennis match, apparently anticipating some kind of response from the menacing brunet; some of them were probably even hoping for a decent row to break out. But Loki didn't say a word, and Coulson quickly noticed the tension surging around his students and decided to put an end to it.
"Easy now. Listen," he put up his palms defensively, "I can't just throw him out. He didn't do anything wrong."
"He's driving everybody up the wall! Getting on our nerves! He's unbearable!" A storm of voices erupted. Coulson raised his hands even higher, as though they could shield him from the noise.
"This is something you should solve out among yourselves," he said calmly. "I understand that as artists you're all a bunch of individuals, but this club is about teamwork. You need to work out your disagreements and learn to cooperate. For the sake of art!" He added cheerfully, but his enthusiasm bounced off an invisible wall of irritation and resentment.
"I'm not cooperating with him anymore," the sophomore pointed his thumb at Loki. "Either he leaves or I do," he concluded, accompanied by a choir of eager "yeah"s and "well said"s.
All heads turned to Loki. A couple of impatient gazes traced the path from his spot to the door, mentally pushing him towards the exit. The actors squinted, trying to read his face from afar. Odinson, in his black T-shirt and dark cargo pants, merged in the shadow, his bright blue eyes staring back in the intent eyes of his fellow troupers. He didn't budge an inch, as though his heavy combat boots anchored him to the ground.
* * *
Phil Coulson took a deep breath, knocked on the door and sticked his head into the detention room, not waiting for an answer. All the students immediately turned back to look at him - all except one. Coulson sighed.
"Miss Hill, can I borrow Stark for a minute?"
"You can keep him, for all I care," Maria Hill gave him a brief, tired glance, then shifted it to the unfazed student lounged at the desk in the first row and motioned at him with a quick jerk of her head. Stark got up lazily and followed Coulson out of the classroom, munching on a doughnut and licking the icing from his fingers. He shut the door behind himself and leaned against it, assessing the director from head to toes with an impassive look of half-closed eyes.
"Yes?" He asked. Coulson couldn't ignore the tinge of nonchalance in his voice, something that made this one simple word sound like, If you don't mind, sir, I have a very important detention to sit and I would be very much obliged if you would kindly present your cause and not take up my precious time, thank you. Another sigh escaped his mouth.
"You probably know me, so let's skip the introduction. You probably also know that I am in charge of the school's Drama Club", he started, planting hands on his hips. Stark sent him another unimpressed glance.
"I know," he replied smugly, taking a huge bite of his doughnut. "What I don't know is what a Drama Club director wants with me," he gulped the sweet hastily and pounded his chest with a fist. "I'm not exactly a good actor. I mean, why pretend to be someone else when I can be my glorious self for real?" He smiled devilishly.
"I'm not here to offer you a role," Coulson explained. "But I do have a task for you. I've heard you're good with technology, right? Levers, switches, twinkling LEDs, that sort of things?"
"Good? Pfff!" Stark snorted, erupting with crumbs. "I am godly. But what's the deal? I thought you guys had your own little tech fairy?" He raised his eyebrows in confusion. Coulson sighed again.
"We had. He was sent off with a leg in cast this Tuesday. I asked around and figured out you're the man for the job. Even Principal Fury agrees that having you in a regular detention apparently doesn't work, so maybe a decent share of community service will keep your mind off your antics."
"When will they drop that already?" Stark groaned under his breath. "That old shed was a ruin anyway… All right," he muttered through the last bite of the doughnut, "I'm in. One question, though," an inquisitive finger poked in front of Coulson's face. "Can I bring my people along?"
Coulson stiffened somewhat. He was in no position to refuse - given the circumstances, every pair of hands was more than welcomed. But uttered by this particular young man in front of him, this request was nothing short of sinister.
"What kind of people?" He asked cautiously.
"Just two pals to help me round up a couple of things," Stark shrugged innocently. "They'll be good, I promise. One of them is arguably some kind of a genius. Some other kind than I am, in any case. They may come in handy." Of that there was no denying, although Coulson was beginning to doubt if he was capable of handling two geniuses of any kind at once.
Warning: potty mouths ahead.
A rumbling THUD! of a bunch of very heavy things falling down from a considerable height shook the floor. The lights went out. From the darkness came muffled moaning, followed by a string of curses. For a couple of seconds, footsteps pattered hastily in all directions, quite pointlessly given the fact that the running people could see next to nothing. When the lights flickered on again, the chaos caused by the unexpected disaster only escalated.
"Man down! Man down!"
The few actors present on the scene were already crowding around the feral spot, two of them trying to lift their technician to a more or less upright position. It wasn't an easy task, as the boy was clutching tight on the main light switch, refusing to take the helping hands offered to him, still a little dizzy from being knocked down by the fallen sandbags. Somehow, they managed to make him sit up - and that was all they could do at the moment, as his left leg was pinned down by the ponderous load. The technician grunted.
"Hey Erik, you all right?" Asked one of the students who pulled him up, a short, muscular senior with an ever-taut face. He bent down again to try and move the sandbags away, prompting the technician to spit another profanity.
"Leave it, Clint. Damn, it hurts like all hell…" Erik wrinkled his nose in a scowl. "Where is that sonova…?" He growled suddenly, craning his neck to see beyond the ring of concerned faces leaning over him. "Where is he? Odinson! For fuck's sake, I told you not to touch those ropes!" Erik's voice tumbled through the auditorium, reaching even the distant corner where the dark‑haired young man to whom the yell was addressed stood sulkily, arms crossed on his chest.
"And I told you they were messed up", Odinson countered, his eyes fixed on the floor. "This wouldn't have happened if you had just listened to me."
"This wouldn't have happened if you had just stuck to your job and kept the hell out of mine!" Shouted Erik. His voice, quavering with anger, made it quite clear he would have charged at Odinson this very second, had it not been for the sandbags weighting him down.
"Calm down, guys," a pretty, red-headed girl chipped in, casting a brief glimpse at their Drama Club director, who was just concluding the EMS call. "Let's not fight, shall we? It's already hard as it is, no need to jump at each other's throat."
"But he's right, Natasha," some sophomore actor protested. "Ever since we began the rehearsals, Loki's been bossing us all around like he knows better!"
"That's because I do know better," came a muted response from the dark corner. Natasha shot a stern look that way, but the sophomore's remark prompted the other actors to voice their own stifled complains, drowning them in the uproar of general discontent. Natasha sighed and threw a pleading glance at the director, who quickly shut his phone and headed towards the fussing and cussing cluster.
"The ambulance should arrive in a couple of minutes," he announced loudly to draw his students' attention. "Don't move, Selvig, your leg can be broken. They'll take proper care of you, no worries. Now, what seems to be the problem here?" He turned to the actors and put both hands on his hips to radiate the sort of concerned, fatherly authority the club members adored him for.
"There's our problem!" A couple of accusing fingers pointed in the general direction of the far corner where the dark figure of Loki Odinson stood unmoved since the beginning of the whole incident. "Princess Perfect over here apparently thinks this is his play," the rantering sophomore had heated up in the fire of the argument and appointed himself the spokesman of the group. "All he ever does is going around criticizing us and telling us what to do! These last two weeks've been a torture! We can't work like that, Mr. Coulson. He needs to go!" He concluded, gesturing fiercely towards Loki; Odinson was still leaning against the wall in his corner, motionless but for the eyes that now shifted from the floor to pierce his adversary with a cold blue stare. The other actors turned their eyes from one boy to the other as though they were watching a tennis match, apparently anticipating some kind of response from the menacing brunet; some of them were probably even hoping for a decent row to break out. But Loki didn't say a word, and Coulson quickly noticed the tension surging around his students and decided to put an end to it.
"Easy now. Listen," he put up his palms defensively, "I can't just throw him out. He didn't do anything wrong."
"He's driving everybody up the wall! Getting on our nerves! He's unbearable!" A storm of voices erupted. Coulson raised his hands even higher, as though they could shield him from the noise.
"This is something you should solve out among yourselves," he said calmly. "I understand that as artists you're all a bunch of individuals, but this club is about teamwork. You need to work out your disagreements and learn to cooperate. For the sake of art!" He added cheerfully, but his enthusiasm bounced off an invisible wall of irritation and resentment.
"I'm not cooperating with him anymore," the sophomore pointed his thumb at Loki. "Either he leaves or I do," he concluded, accompanied by a choir of eager "yeah"s and "well said"s.
All heads turned to Loki. A couple of impatient gazes traced the path from his spot to the door, mentally pushing him towards the exit. The actors squinted, trying to read his face from afar. Odinson, in his black T-shirt and dark cargo pants, merged in the shadow, his bright blue eyes staring back in the intent eyes of his fellow troupers. He didn't budge an inch, as though his heavy combat boots anchored him to the ground.
* * *
Phil Coulson took a deep breath, knocked on the door and sticked his head into the detention room, not waiting for an answer. All the students immediately turned back to look at him - all except one. Coulson sighed.
"Miss Hill, can I borrow Stark for a minute?"
"You can keep him, for all I care," Maria Hill gave him a brief, tired glance, then shifted it to the unfazed student lounged at the desk in the first row and motioned at him with a quick jerk of her head. Stark got up lazily and followed Coulson out of the classroom, munching on a doughnut and licking the icing from his fingers. He shut the door behind himself and leaned against it, assessing the director from head to toes with an impassive look of half-closed eyes.
"Yes?" He asked. Coulson couldn't ignore the tinge of nonchalance in his voice, something that made this one simple word sound like, If you don't mind, sir, I have a very important detention to sit and I would be very much obliged if you would kindly present your cause and not take up my precious time, thank you. Another sigh escaped his mouth.
"You probably know me, so let's skip the introduction. You probably also know that I am in charge of the school's Drama Club", he started, planting hands on his hips. Stark sent him another unimpressed glance.
"I know," he replied smugly, taking a huge bite of his doughnut. "What I don't know is what a Drama Club director wants with me," he gulped the sweet hastily and pounded his chest with a fist. "I'm not exactly a good actor. I mean, why pretend to be someone else when I can be my glorious self for real?" He smiled devilishly.
"I'm not here to offer you a role," Coulson explained. "But I do have a task for you. I've heard you're good with technology, right? Levers, switches, twinkling LEDs, that sort of things?"
"Good? Pfff!" Stark snorted, erupting with crumbs. "I am godly. But what's the deal? I thought you guys had your own little tech fairy?" He raised his eyebrows in confusion. Coulson sighed again.
"We had. He was sent off with a leg in cast this Tuesday. I asked around and figured out you're the man for the job. Even Principal Fury agrees that having you in a regular detention apparently doesn't work, so maybe a decent share of community service will keep your mind off your antics."
"When will they drop that already?" Stark groaned under his breath. "That old shed was a ruin anyway… All right," he muttered through the last bite of the doughnut, "I'm in. One question, though," an inquisitive finger poked in front of Coulson's face. "Can I bring my people along?"
Coulson stiffened somewhat. He was in no position to refuse - given the circumstances, every pair of hands was more than welcomed. But uttered by this particular young man in front of him, this request was nothing short of sinister.
"What kind of people?" He asked cautiously.
"Just two pals to help me round up a couple of things," Stark shrugged innocently. "They'll be good, I promise. One of them is arguably some kind of a genius. Some other kind than I am, in any case. They may come in handy." Of that there was no denying, although Coulson was beginning to doubt if he was capable of handling two geniuses of any kind at once.