you sold your soul for a leading role
‘Anyway, sooner or later, someone has to turn up. Or - or there'll be a newspaper on the shelf that says.’
Serena told me that almost two weeks ago but until today I haven’t had any luck. I’m sitting at one of the tables in the rec room and in front of me, I have a single issue of The Daily Bugle -- even if it's called The DB! these days. The smiling face of Norman Osborn looks up at me from the page. Behind him stand what apparently passes for Avengers in the new world order -- including someone dressed in Clint’s old costume.
It takes everything I have to not rip it to shreds. Norman Osborn leading the Avengers?! Any Avengers? What the $%#! is that? I don’t care if he did make the kill shot that won us the fight, that’s just not --
“Hey, are you alright?” asks a voice to my right, and suddenly there’s a hand on my shoulder. The hand’s attached to a blonde woman wearing way too much spandex. Nodding mutely, I shrug her off and grab the paper from the table. I stalk out of the room.
An hour later finds me back at the archery butts, wearing the top half of my costume with a pair of jeans, bow in hand, and quiver slung over my shoulder. I’ve taken the liberty of tearing each of the new ‘New Avengers’ out of their photo op and sticking them in the center of the targets.
“You son of a bitch,” I say through clenched teeth, as I take aim at ‘Hawkeye’’s target from some fifty feet away.
I fire. It hits him right in the face. Somehow I don’t feel any better.
ST/LT more than welcome. Title comes from James Blunt's 'I Can't Hear the Music.'
Serena told me that almost two weeks ago but until today I haven’t had any luck. I’m sitting at one of the tables in the rec room and in front of me, I have a single issue of The Daily Bugle -- even if it's called The DB! these days. The smiling face of Norman Osborn looks up at me from the page. Behind him stand what apparently passes for Avengers in the new world order -- including someone dressed in Clint’s old costume.
It takes everything I have to not rip it to shreds. Norman Osborn leading the Avengers?! Any Avengers? What the $%#! is that? I don’t care if he did make the kill shot that won us the fight, that’s just not --
“Hey, are you alright?” asks a voice to my right, and suddenly there’s a hand on my shoulder. The hand’s attached to a blonde woman wearing way too much spandex. Nodding mutely, I shrug her off and grab the paper from the table. I stalk out of the room.
An hour later finds me back at the archery butts, wearing the top half of my costume with a pair of jeans, bow in hand, and quiver slung over my shoulder. I’ve taken the liberty of tearing each of the new ‘New Avengers’ out of their photo op and sticking them in the center of the targets.
“You son of a bitch,” I say through clenched teeth, as I take aim at ‘Hawkeye’’s target from some fifty feet away.
I fire. It hits him right in the face. Somehow I don’t feel any better.
ST/LT more than welcome. Title comes from James Blunt's 'I Can't Hear the Music.'