Logs:Partially Assembled

Partially Assembled
Dramatis Personae DJ, Sam, Steve, Tony
In Absentia	2021-07-13 "Thought you guys could use a hand."
Location <NYC> Sam and Steve's Apartment, <LTV> Castle Doom
The rapid knock knock knock that comes at Sam's door is unannounced, uninvited. Tony Stark doesn't wait for invitation once the door opens, unapologetic as he strides into the apartment. "Your boyfriend's got himself in some trouble. You wait for the government to get him out -- be waiting a long time." In pajama pants and a crisp button-down, hand still on the doorknob, Sam is looking far from gruntled at this intrusion. He blinks at Tony with a deep bemusement, free hand lifting to rub slowly against the side of his cheek before he finally replies. "Can't exactly just *fly into* Latveria and whisk 'em home, can we?" --- Half way through his watch, Steve has finally settled down to continue working his slow laborious way through a hardbound copy of Phänomenologie des Geistes. He's still restless -- not helped by the ticking of the grandfather clock in one corner of the incongruously luxurious dungeon -- and shifts around often. Then he stills suddenly, canting his head toward a faint noise he can neither localize nor identify. Glances around the cell, eyes narrowing on the Doombot/statue. At the next quiet boom he looks up, eyes furrowing. As the noise graduate to a distant commotion, he sets Hegel aside and rises, the once standing he does not seem to know what to do with himself. "DJ?" DJ has taken a recent turn at sleeping -- when his shift on watch ended, dropping off to slumber with enviably little fuss -- but he's awake again with just as much alacrity at the sound of his name. He's on his feet in a moment, head tilting thoughtfully at the distant (but growing alarmingly nearer) ruckus. He glances from the door to the thumping ceiling to Steve's uncertain stance. "I take it you didn't order room service, then?" His shoulder is rolling, his own posture already settled into readiness as the wall starts to tremble. "You coming?" --- The luxurious grounds of the castle are in a state of chaos. The pampered members of the one percent who have been until very recently imprisoned in its gilded cages are currently being escorted out of the rubble-strewn halls by a fleet of extremely polite Sentinel drones. The gleaming figure just stepping around a corner could easily be confused for another weird incarnation of the Doombot he's left in his wake, all glowing eyes and metal joints, but regrettably the voice that addresses DJ from this particular suit is all too familiar. "Thought you guys could use a hand." DJ has just been blipping back out of one of the cells, just a blur in his rapid sweep of the hall, but he stops short at this sight. The expressions that cross his face do so too fast to be easily readable but by the time he solidly stable it's settled somewhere around incredulity. "Try that joke again and you're going to lose one." His jaw clenches, then relaxes. Reluctantly, "I hope you brought a lift." --- The rescue operation is winding down now, the last of the hostages delivered to Stark's transport -- the thing looks like nothing so much as a space ship out of some science fiction program. Steve had, for a time, seemed less flatfooted as he busied himself being useful. Now, though, he looks kind of lost again, standing in the courtyard of Castle Doom. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye he turns, squinting to track a graceful winged silhouette banking and descending toward him. It's only when his rescuer rights himself in the air, metallic wings spread wide to shed momentum and repulsors firing to ease him down, that Steve's eyes go wide with recognition. Even after his roommate has touched down in front of him, he can't quite stop staring. His mouth opens, his jaw works, and it's only after two false starts that he finally says, "I thought you were a pilot." "Thought you might want this back." On one arm the iconic star-emblazoned shield glints in the light. Sam's eyes are shaded behind tinted goggles but his smile is bright as ever. The low thrum that's accompanied his flight cuts off as the large wings fold in neatly behind him. "Oh, I never said pilot."