Pepper Potts (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2014-10-14 02:59 am
handing) wrote in entrancelogs2014-10-14 02:59 am
[Semi-Closed] A wake up call to a rented room sounded like an alarm of impending doom.
Who: Pepper Potts + Bruce Banner, Thor, and whoever would be in the basement lab
Where: Tony's Basement Lab moving to Fort Dixon-Potter
When: Oct 14
Rating: PG, PG-13 max
Summary: They've known all along they only had a limited amount of time before Extremis broke down. Turns out that time's up.
The Story:
She'd caught herself losing focus, anxiously bouncing from one self-appointed task to the next. Pepper had so much she wanted to do, yet drive didn't equal ability at its core--and in truth, much of what she attempted was done because she thought she should be working. It was strange for her to attempt a project, yet get no further than a few words in before she grew almost dizzy at the thought of paper or computer screen. The trend had developed over the course of several days, maybe a week, and she'd thought it at least due in part to the event that had just happened. She'd avoided any musical numbers herself, but now the urge seemed to have passed from the mansion at large, and thus was no longer a reason for her personal dilemma.
Nor was that the extent of it. As she tried to pencil out a draft for a network announcement, her hands around the pen. She noticed it after she'd stopped writing, angrily scratched out the umpteenth false start, and stared down at her fingers. She dropped the pen entirely after that, willing something smaller to happen: she wanted her hands to still. But opened or closed, the urge lingered, an itch under her skin to move, to do, despite no direction meshing with that want. Things should have been getting better; she'd been mending her bridges, trying to return to as much of a normal life as Wonderland allowed. During the day she felt less haunted, able to talk to people, to smile and truly mean it.
Now, however, she hardly felt like she could sit at her desk without going nuts.
She took a moment to wash her face, but Pepper knew in her gut that a bit of water wouldn't solve the problem. If she looked at it honestly, the signs were all there, everything they'd warned her about. She hadn't eaten much, sleep was a fleeting notion at best. The fears she'd been trying to put behind her clawed at the back of her mind, and though she kept quiet about them on the outside, she had no more luck stilling her thoughts than she had her fingers.
Maybe she'd taken for granted just how long Extremis would hold its stability in her system. It was hard to think she could grow complacent about it, yet it somehow seemed she had. Her awareness of the danger had somehow fallen away from the forefront of her mind, until now, when she looked down at her skin and half-expected it to glow.
She'd run out of time. She was a bomb whose clock had counted down to zero, and Pepper rushed downstairs, hoping that at least she'd caught the signs early enough to lessen the damage she would cause.
Where: Tony's Basement Lab moving to Fort Dixon-Potter
When: Oct 14
Rating: PG, PG-13 max
Summary: They've known all along they only had a limited amount of time before Extremis broke down. Turns out that time's up.
The Story:
She'd caught herself losing focus, anxiously bouncing from one self-appointed task to the next. Pepper had so much she wanted to do, yet drive didn't equal ability at its core--and in truth, much of what she attempted was done because she thought she should be working. It was strange for her to attempt a project, yet get no further than a few words in before she grew almost dizzy at the thought of paper or computer screen. The trend had developed over the course of several days, maybe a week, and she'd thought it at least due in part to the event that had just happened. She'd avoided any musical numbers herself, but now the urge seemed to have passed from the mansion at large, and thus was no longer a reason for her personal dilemma.
Nor was that the extent of it. As she tried to pencil out a draft for a network announcement, her hands around the pen. She noticed it after she'd stopped writing, angrily scratched out the umpteenth false start, and stared down at her fingers. She dropped the pen entirely after that, willing something smaller to happen: she wanted her hands to still. But opened or closed, the urge lingered, an itch under her skin to move, to do, despite no direction meshing with that want. Things should have been getting better; she'd been mending her bridges, trying to return to as much of a normal life as Wonderland allowed. During the day she felt less haunted, able to talk to people, to smile and truly mean it.
Now, however, she hardly felt like she could sit at her desk without going nuts.
She took a moment to wash her face, but Pepper knew in her gut that a bit of water wouldn't solve the problem. If she looked at it honestly, the signs were all there, everything they'd warned her about. She hadn't eaten much, sleep was a fleeting notion at best. The fears she'd been trying to put behind her clawed at the back of her mind, and though she kept quiet about them on the outside, she had no more luck stilling her thoughts than she had her fingers.
Maybe she'd taken for granted just how long Extremis would hold its stability in her system. It was hard to think she could grow complacent about it, yet it somehow seemed she had. Her awareness of the danger had somehow fallen away from the forefront of her mind, until now, when she looked down at her skin and half-expected it to glow.
She'd run out of time. She was a bomb whose clock had counted down to zero, and Pepper rushed downstairs, hoping that at least she'd caught the signs early enough to lessen the damage she would cause.