Figurative Codenaming

Brief Title:

American Dream, Ms. Marvel, and Night Raven

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
06/26/12 14:40

Med Bay - Avenger's Mansion

American Dream and Night Raven recover from Invasion of Manhattan, Ms. Marvel checks in.

Social or Plot:


This large room is totally white from the ceilings, to the walls, and to the floors. The middle of the room is filled with many medic beds of all sizes and shapes. Each is covered in white sheets with a white pillow. Along the walls, many cabinets, drawers, and tables are found. Located all over are medical equipment of all sorts and of the utmost quality and very advanced for its time. Anything from a stethoscope to a heart monitor is located through out. Several monitoring devices, IV's, medicines, antibiotics, and other such chemicals and the like are also located in different types places. Along the wall handing up, are several containment suits to allow medical attention when exposure to the patient is harmful. Also fire suppression gear as well as climate control is through the medical area. The door is air-locked and can be completely sealed off if the need ever arise and unable to be opened unless from the outside.

Brought to the Med Bay by his rescuer, Night Raven makes spectacular recovery. The instruments in the Avengers Mansion quite capable of detecting mutations to his body, more than capable of even identifying he's not genetically modified by birth but a mutate - a chemical reaction. Probably even able to place his age at over a century even. The hardest part of the detection is actually fathoming whether he really died from the shadows or not, as there is enough damage from a century to his body to indicate heart stoppage more than once if not outright stroke level tissue damage in there. Still he is making his recover and despite the damage from shadows and chest compressions, his bones are coming together after several days and he's starting to wake up and look around wondering where he is.

When he wakes up, he'll see Shannon two beds down. Dressed in simple hospital robes and sitting up. There's a tray in front of her. A stack of papers. A stack of envelopes. She seems very intent on writing... a letter? An actual handwritten letter? Do people do that anymore?

Certainly if she's formerly the Captain after operations to remodel the American hero, she'd appreciate writing. In fact, if Night Raven had people to write, he'd enjoy it the same. Sadly for him, he's probably dressed in robes too, unmasked and looking like death, figuratively and literally. "Sorry Captain," he moans, his voice sounding like he's lied beneath centuries of sand, "I don't present a good bedside morning face." Two scar riddled hands come up to cover his face, either blocking the light or giving him that comfort of masking.

At the moment, the medical staff isn't present. With their patients in the Avengers out of critical condition, they asked for and were granted permission to go out into the city and help as best they can.
Shannon glances over and she smiles, lightly. "I'm not Captain America. My name is American Dream. Well, my codename. I'm... sort of modeled after him. I think your mask is on the nightstand next to you. Jarvis had it cleaned and your outfit repaired."

A hand falls over towards the nightstand, groggily pushing anything around until the mask is found. "I'll say," he says when she offers her real code name and clears up some facts about the confusion in his mind. Its slow recognition, double meaning implied, as probably the codename was designed with the intent the same. Finding the mask, he fumbles with it a moment and puts it on in place. Doesn't cover arms or legs that are exposed below the robe he's been fitted with. As he works it in place to begin attaching, "Voila, no more nightmares in the dark. I take it we won? This isn't like an alien space ship and we're prisoners right?" Rhetoric maybe, he's deduced it already from the Jarvis character cleaning his mask and fixing his outfit.

"No. You're in the medical bay of Avenger's mansion." Shannon explains to the masked man. "We're sort of the successors to the Invaders or the All-Winner's Squadron." She's already deduced that Night Raven might somehow be mentally stuck in the past. Or something. "After the fight ended... I wouldn't say we won. It just sort of ended... we brought you here."

That does click for him, not that he's so much stuck in the past, but Night Raven probably doesn't keep up much with media unless it involves organized crime. Then a moment of silence, brought here, "I'm not being detained though?" Normally that could be an odd question, but if anyone does have access to any vigilante files on the man, there are indeed enough questionable activities there to raise some concerns perhaps.

Shannon shakes her head. "No. We haven't reported you being here to SHIELD, either. You're free to go whenever you want." It isn't like Night Raven is the Punisher, with a dozen warrants out on him. And it would probably be bad form to turn over a guy who saved the lives of five hundred civilians in the middle of a war of the gods.

Looking for some of his clothes, he ponders the situation a moment, then looks down at the ground. His hands finds his knees. "Ms. Dream, I believe a heartfelt thank you is presently in order. I'm not in the practice of being sociable, all circumstance considered, but last thing I remember was you coming into the darkness and pulling me out." His masked head turns up, eyes to find her in her writing, "Thank you kindly, I am in your debt and I don't think I could truly express my gratitude."

Shannon slides her fingers through her long, blonde hair. "Really, I should thank you. If you hadn't warned me in time, I would have sent more civilians out into that killzone. Some would have died before Ms. Marvel came in with transport. Your warning saved a lot of lives."

A slight ponderance, brows lifting underneath that mask even. Night Raven chews that one over. "But, I almost walked away, knowing they were there." That can't be changed, so instead he takes a repaired or new shirt to replace the damaged one, emblem and all, and lets the top portion of his robe fall before stretching the fabric over his ruined flesh. "If I saved lives, that would be making amends. It doesn't lift curses. I'll still walk with death once I leave the doors of your fine facilities here." He's accepted his way of life but still, there could be longing, longing for normalcy somewhere in there.

Shannon shrugs her shoulders. "You almost did it. But you didn't. That's the difference, I think. You did something heroic. You saved lives. What you did tomorrow and what you did yesterday didn't matter at that moment. All that mattered to those people was what you did right then. Not what you almost did. What you did."

"Ms. Dream, I like that," he says, still sitting half-robbed and t-shirted, so to speak. Night Raven looks up in his mask at her again. "War is never pretty, there's a lot of mud to run through. No one ever likes to think their decision made a difference but in the end, whether someone ran or stayed to fight, we're all affected by each other. We forget we're collective organisms because we live our lives at the individual level. Maybe I like you better than the Captain, come to think of it."

Shannon flushes prettily. There are a lot of teenage boys out there who might agree with Night Raven. Perhaps for different reasons, however. "I'm just glad you were there. Without you doing the right thing... well... a bad situation would have been worse. Thank you."

Ms. Marvel comes in from Sub Basement - Avengers Mansion
Ms. Marvel has arrived.

"Then on some level, we're square, I'm glad you were there too." He looks around for his jacket, still not getting up to focus on pantsing himself. "Two good decisions can't be half-bad." Still thankful on his own end. "We can't pat each other's backs all day. So, I'm going to look forward to the next situation we might find ourselves in, if ever that should come. Just good to be pointed in the right direction sometimes I think." Then he chins up in her direction, "Can I ask about the letter there. I mean, don't you kids these days type everything in your personal computers anyways. I haven't seen handwritting practiced in decades."

Shannon sits in her bed. She's got a tray and a stack of paper and envelopes. And the list. Carol will know what that is. Night Raven's in his bed with his mask and shirt on. Thanks to Jarvis, Night Raven's outfit has been cleaned and repaired. He seems to be in the process of getting dressed. The medical staff's out, helping the rest of the city recover.
"Oh. I'm... I'm writing letters. To the families of the deceased." Shannon explains, softly. "It seemed like the right thing to do. Write it by hand."

Hopefully there is a divider he can pull between them, which Night Raven will do as he goes for pants now. "Families of the deceased ..." he says in ponderance then, his only thoughts being of everyone who succumbed to shadow demons in the city at large, not being awake for Hades fall from the Chrysler building. A seque into ponderance over what transpired. Still as he finished again, now with only arms exposed in all their ugly, scarrified horror. When he reaches for the curtain again, he says "You know, in my day Ms. Dream, hand writting was well practiced, a true art form." Certainly not meant to belittle contemporary calligraphic artists that practice by hand.

The door to the medbay hisses open to reveal Ms. Marvel, in costume. She walks through, letting the door hiss closed behind her, offering a nod to each of the two patients. "It's an old tradition. COs write them by hand. Desk jockeys back home type them up." she offers, clearly honoring Shannon's choice to write the letters, and by hand. It's what she would do. What she /is/ doing, herself. Right now, she's taking a break. It's a lot of damned letters, and her hand is cramping, though that's as likely as not psychosomatic. Carol's emotions are a lot stronger on such things these days, thanks to Amora. Blessing? Curse? Or just life?
"I see you're both making progress. You look like you're getting ready to take your leave of us?" Ms. Marvel offers to Night Raven, appraising his state of readiness. She's no doctor, but she can use the force of authority if she must. Right now, she hasn't a reason to do that. "I wanted to take the chance to thank you, personally, for what you did out there." she comments, stepping forward to extend her gloved hand.

"My handwriting isn't a work of art." Shannon is the first to admit that. "I'm just trying to do the right thing." She glances up as Carol walks into the room. "Hello, Ms. Marvel." She offers softly. "I think our friend and Wolverine have something in common. No one should be moving as well as he is this soon after major trauma."

Removing the curtain, Night Raven gladly takes the hand offered. "Ma'am," he says by way of greeting, "You would be right, I don't mean to burden you Avengers here. There might be a few hairline fractures left to fix themselves up, body a little stiff, but capable of moving." Then a nod in the direction of Shannon, "No one should be, its part curse I'd say. As for handwriting, that your practice it and partake of the gesture makes it art. I once saw a Duchamp lecture, take it for what its worth." A chuckle even, he sits back on the bed a moment, letting his lungs adjust to having stood up after the super chest compressions that saved his life the other day. "I'm hinting at an offer to help write, if you'd take it up."

"Wolverine started out ugly. Our friend here got there the old-fashioned way: one lump of scar tissue at a time." Carol comments, but with wry humor. That is her way of disarming matters. She doesn't speak to Night Raven helping with the letters, as that is Shannon's call. Shannon needed this, only she can say if she's ready to give some of that burden, that expiation, up. "Just so you know, you're no burden. But we also won't keep you if you don't want to stay." Frankly, she's glad he made it. Fardling Zeus and Hades could just as easily have taken him along with the others.

Shannon shakes her head. "The offer is very kind. But I need to do this myself. I hope you understand." She offers Night Raven a sad smile. "Ms. Marvel is right. There's no need for you to rush out. You're welcome to stay and heal up fully."

"In fairness, you didn't see this mug before the scar tissue, maybe it’s an improvement," grins Night Raven behind the mask, a chuckle escaping him. "I'll stay a spell, to bother Ms. Dream here a little while longer while she fulfills her personalized obligations. Who knows, I might actually keep good company." Evidently, talking this much is more than he gets on a routine basis and, perhaps like other 'old' people, even when he thinks he doesn't want it he likes socializing.
"She could use the lively company." Ms. Marvel opines. "To be honest, though, I was just making a guess. I rarely see scar tissue that ends up being an improvement." Could be. But she won't bet on it.

"I don't mind the company." Shannon admits. Night Raven isn't an Avenger. His presence isn't as big a reminder of what happened. Besides, she's always enjoyed the perspective of age. Even if its an insane perspective.

"Lively and good looking," chuckles Night Raven, "This is the end all. I'll have to run with it before the gig is up though. This is reality right, not a vision from the Raven?" He has to check now, to be safe, though he settles back on the bed, arms and feet exposed only for the moment. "Because honestly, I think I'm getting the better end of the deal on company being kept here."

"Vision ... " Carol glances at Night Raven, then to Shannon, and then back to Night Raven. "This is reality, as far as I know it." It's really her only answer to such a question. Right?

Crazy? Or is there a real being providing him visions? In this business, you never really know, do you? "This is reality. Not the one I'm from but I live here now." Shannon explains.

That seems fair enough to him, he leans back on the bed a moment. "Then, I gather, the codename, its not simply a play on the male psyche and true ideaologies of the American Dream, but a further play on the concept of realities?" He thinks he has it all straight even, "Then you're anchored here for some purpose, or do you prefer this present reality that we find ourselves together in?" His mind is spinning for the moment, perhaps shaping that reality is where ever he finds himself.

Since it's a question to Shannon about her codename and her reasons for it, Ms. Marvel stays quiet, listening instead of speaking.

"Oh, no. I'm just a normal person. I just come from an alternate Earth. There are lots of them. Infinite variations and all of that." Shannon says. She's no physicist, though. Explaining it is a bit beyond her. "My codename is a tribute to Captain America. My dream was to be like him so..."

Chuckling a little then, Night Raven intones, "Ah, I'm simply over thinking. Well, its all a great play on words, intentional or otherwise." Then he looks over at Ms. Marvel, "I suppose on that account, its a good thing I didn't attempt to guess your name using the same logic, I might have offended someone."

Ms. Marvel looks curiously at Night Raven, wondering just what that meant, but a bit afraid to ask, frankly. Does it much matter. "I'm just Ms. Marvel. Major Carol Susan Jane Danvers, US Air Force, Retired."

Shannon actually, genuinely smiles. For the first time since the battle. "Ms. Marvel is the chairperson of the Avengers. Our team leader. You might recognize her as the lady who carried the superbus that the civilians evacuated on."

"Major ..." he says, clouding his mind a moment. Then a nod, "Yes, I think that's a requisite for this line of work for some of us, I was a corporal once." Just a fading thought. "I think I saw the bus before darkness folded on me. The bus, bursts of light, shadow, then Ms. Dream here reaching into the darkness. Ms. Marvel is fitting, marvelous display with the bus and the light show. So Chairperson? I find that curious, I don't know what your manifesto is, but sounds more business like?"

"I didn't come up with the title, the founders did when they drafted the Charter. I'm elected as leader from the active roster of the team. We have a business manager and an entire support staff, derived from the Maria Stark Foundation but supported by monies from both Stark grants and a host of other revenue streams. I'm not a businesswoman." Ms. Marvel answers, nodding. "I've found that many heroes have some background with military service. But I've found many who don't." And she respects them all.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should have tried a tour myself." American Dream admits. "But I was pretty eager to get right to it." She pauses, then says. "My aunt got me right into training with Master Barton so..."

"Charter, my apologies," offers Night Raven, hindsight showing him that manifesto isn't the best term in the contemporary lexicon. "Foundations to support the team, active rosters, it was all a matter of time. History, makes us wonder who we didn't see it earlier, but allows us to appreciate that it finally came about." Over towrds American Dream, NR rolls where he lies back on the bed, "And your family knows how to get you into this sort of work, that sounds like a Dynasty. Next thing I know, someone will tell me people are heroes because they're taking on the family business." Heroes used lightly perhaps.

"Some do." Ms. Marvel offers. "Because they are inspired, moved to contribute. Just like those who become a legacy of police officers, or fire department personnel, or military." She doesn't take kindly to poo-pooing on /anyone's/ genuine heroic motivation, whatever it may be. "And I think that training with 'Master Barton' was likely the exact right thing for you. Military enough, but focused more on saving than serving."

"Where I come from, there's a lot of legacies." Shannon notes, "My aunt Peggy was actually a secret agent during World War Two. Her younger sister, my aunt Sharon... wow. That's complicated."

Listening to both, Night Raven holds up two hands indicating he meant no harm, "I stand corrected. Though holy men and women, the prophets, those that communicated with the spirits and knew the holy places. My grandfather once said we never knew where the gift came from, but once in a family line, it had the propensity to show up again in those blood lines. It is no different." A shrug at the thought. "So, Ms. Dream, standing outside your reality, a complication in itself, is there some version of this family of yours in our reality?" A genuine curiosity, not a prodding for deep secrets or emotional ponderances.

"I've heard of that sort of thing, mystical gifts that pass through the bloodline. No such issues for me, but still. That has to be a hard thing to carry at times." Isn't all of it? Ms. Marvel smiles warmly as Night Raven asks Shannon about her family. "I wanted to check in on both of you, and I'm glad I did. But I need to get going. We're carrying in the framing pieces to secure a few of the buildings with structural issues, so the folks in Damage Control can get them shored up without worries they'll fall in before they can get to them. I'll be back later." She takes a moment to give Shannon a particular smile, and then about-faces and heads out.

"Be safe!" Shannon calls out after Ms. Marvel. Then she leans back in her bed and sighs. "She's always going. Never stops. I should be out there." She sighs and then says, "My aunts both exist here." She notes. "But... not all my family does. Its complicated and a little off-putting."

"Always going, but a good leader, checking in like that," side comments Night Raven as Ms. Marvel excuses herself with a smile to Ms. American Dream. "Family is an interesting thing. I lost my parents at a young age, drunk driver." Wryly, its not just a contemporary issue, alcohol and people behind the wheel. "When I was young, sometimes I wondered what it would be like if they had lived. Another reality, perhaps they are, maybe that is a dream I shall pass into. Yet, for this one, I believe it was a necessity of who I was to become." Just thrown out there, more directly to the topic, as he crosses one foot over the other lackadaisically, "You are in contact with your family here then? Even distant, I imagine its good to have that familiarity."

"I'm sorry about your family. I lost mine, too. Similar reasons." Shannon says, softly. "Both my parents." She reaches over and grabs a glass of water. Sipping from it gives her a moment. "No. I'm not in contact with them here. It would just complicate things more."

"I've had time to forget my family," not meant to sound mean, but perhaps Night Raven is saying thanks for the sentiment but his loss is over a century old and cannot compare to the woman's 'more recent' loss(es) - both displaced reality and the actually loss of parents. "There you have it though." Relaxing, a moment of reprise. "You know, I don't think I've honestly not done anything," meaning sitting like this recovering and not focusing on his own 'missions' real or perceived real, "In a long while. I'm getting fidgety, then I'll get rackety. But conversation, its a great asset. I'm displaced in time, your displaced in reality," literally, unlike his figurative misplacement from reality, "Complicated, but if you like, maybe we could exchange field notes time and again, just to converse."

Shannon's smile brightens. "Sure. I don't mind doing that. You should talk to Captain America and maybe Wolverine. They're both very long lived. Well, Captain America was in suspended animation but... he'll understand what its like, I mean."

A slight nod, Night Raven agrees, "I can't say I've had the pleasure to acquaint with either of those individuals. But long lived, it would be interesting to speak with someone else long lived that hasn't decided to become one's personal adversary for reasons yet unknown. I think I like you're perspective Ms. Dream, its an intrigue that I didn't realize I needed ..." Until he heard her perspective being implied.

Shannon shakes her head. "I had a unique chance to be trained as a hero by a hero. My classes involved everything from how to take down robbers to how to deal with extra-dimensional conquerors from the future. What sort of group tactics can take down a Hulk. That sort of thing. I don't have perspective. Just a lot of theoretical knowledge."

"Well, would you settle for refreshing at least," he says, turning to look from her to his shoes in the layout of his refitted/tailored clothes thanks to Jarvis. Night Raven may still be thinking about the door for the moment. "Theoretical or not, its your perspective I'd wager. All part of the great cultural influence. Considering it, if you weren't trained by a hero, would you not be willing to make sacrifices like you did for me? Or would you have no interest in writing the letters?"

"I don't know." Shannon admits to that. "I honestly don't. I can play a lot of what ifs in my life. Hell, my life is nothing BUT what ifs when you think about it. It could drive me crazy. I just... I just try to move forward. Be the best me I can be."

"Precisely," agrees Night Raven, "The best you you can be. I think somewhere that's independent of where you went to school, what reality you come from, who you're favorite radio personality was ... or TV personality ..." Then he leans on an elbow to look over at Ms. Dream. "Or is it interwebs personalities now, is that were all the entertainment is these days?"

"All three. Old mediums never die. They just adapt." Shannon says with a laugh. "Thank you. You've given me some nice perspective. I admit, I was moping."

"I'm old, I think old people are supposed to do that," laughs Night Raven himself, "Then again, I haven't been to the library recently, so I don't even know ... maybe you're trending lately." He's more aware than he lets on perhaps, when he's cognizant enough. Then he sits up to grab for socks finally, "I mope too ... often enough, or too often, days at a time. Hopefully I didn't distract from your practice of hand writing."

"I'll finish these tonight." Shannon says, glancing down at the letters. Many pages full of lines. Others waiting to be written upon. "And get them all out. The postal service has been keeping up through all this. Neither rain nor snow..." She smiles. "Its nice to know some things remains constant."

"Faithful as ever, despite rising costs and shortages in staffing," throws out Night Raven on the topic of postal service, "In good news, its not desperate enough to reactivate the Marines to take over the service to save the government money. I'm sure they'd love doing that again." Socks on, shoes being laced up to his desired tightness.


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