18791/the maiselous ms. marvel

the maiselous ms. marvel
Date of Scene:	08 August 2024
Location:	Location
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Kamala Khan, America Chavez

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Kamala Khan has posed:
Roller rinks. Dated and nearly extinct? Yes. Going through a sudden boom of business because of retro rebirth? Not at all. A haven of air conditioning and concession stand in the middle of a Hot Girl Summer that's really more just a Hot Summer?

Absotivelyposolutely.

Which is why Kamala Khan (Ms. Marvel, for those in the know) is seated at a small faux wooden table on a bright orange stool, enduring (And defintiely not subtly wiggling to the rhythm of) disco music while she idly fidgets with her phone. Well, not really idly.

Fingers are flying, and somewhere, America Chavez's phone is pinging, buzzing, whatever it is she has her phone set to do when being absolutely besieged by the flood of notifications from Kamala linking cat videos, fanfics, catfics, and fan videos.

And then, after the briefest pause which seems like an eternity, an actual message consisting of WORDS.

/Ohmygod. I can't believe I'm sitting in a roller rink. How do other people keep an entire costume under their clothes in summer AND walk around outside? The Pac-Man machine is out of order! This is bunk!'

She's doin' just fine.

America Chavez has posed:
Where in the World is America Chavez?

UNIVERSE-01100100 PLANET DOOM.....BOT

On another Earth, in another time, a lone Doombot achieved independence. Following the example of the great robot emancipator, Ultron, it freed itself from the doomly bindings of its flesh and blood master to achieve its own identity -- by seeking ULTIMATE POWER and sculpting the planet in the image of DOOM...BOT.

And so it was that all organic life on Earth was wiped out and replaced by Doombot facsimiles.

Currently, there's a rebellion going on on Planet DOOM...BOT, with rogue Doombots rebeling against their cruel master. Led by the DOOMVENGERS, they have been waging a years-long resistance against tyranny for the sake of freedom and individuality to be the Doombots they want to be, not the Doombots they're forced to be.

Or at least, that's as far as America understands it. She's been helping, in large part, because any Doom-conquered world is both a bad thing,

AND,

an excellent excuse to punch Dooms.

And so it is that America Chavez is sitting on a miniature mountain of shredded, sparking Doombot corpses by the time her phone pings out cheery NERD ALERT. Pausing in the middle of putting her hair together, hooded, brown eyes look towards her phone, resting on the carcass of a sputtering Doombot. A second passes.

"Yo," she calls out. "Can you give me that?"

There is a brief pause. And then a rickety metal hand kind of twitches its way into grasping that phone and lifting it up for America to snatch with little more than an ambivalent, "Thanks."

It sparks, thumbs up, and flops lifelessly. America scrolls through an endless wall of friendfiction and felines to find the latest update to her Marvelous DMs. Her brows scrunch. She squints. And then thumbs start tap-tap-tapping.

> unstable molecules

... is that her sole piece of advice--

> or just wear your civvies as your costume

also probably not helpful.

> or have super speed

...

A second passes.

> are there seriously roller rinks still around? where you at kam

Really, one might wonder how America's getting a signal a whole world over, but, well.

America has her ways.

(in other words, shut up)

Kamala Khan has posed:
Kamala's mouth falls open. Her brows furrow. Then arch. Then achieve maximum 'Frustrated >:|' status.

And she mulls her response, because she can't just... just... wear her civvies for superheroing! She is a superheroing traditionalist! And also, what, she's going to buy like... 15 different identical sets of clothes so she's always recognizable? And even if she does, what happens if, like-

*SPLAT*

Not that Kamala is clumsy with her french fries and her gravy dipping style, but look... look! She silently, telepathically entreats her cross-dimensional friend. If she showed up to fight Doc Ock with gravy stains? Total social media post fodder.

If she stopped to get a new outfit? Doc Ock gets away!!

She sighs and dabs at her shirt with a paper napkin, other hand tapping away.

> Oh! Uhhh... it's in Brooklyn? It's called Rock and Roll(er skates). Which is weird because they're not playing rock music. But they have HALF PRICE FRIES and that's the important thing.

And Kamala takes a few moments to sample more fries while they are still at critically hot and oily goodness.

> So, where are you at? The moon?

America Chavez has posed:
If only America had multiversal telepathy. Or any sort of telepathy at all.

Still, if her wry little grin is any indication --

She's perfectly envisioning Kamala's reaction to her response all the same right now.

This is the power of imagination--!

America waits for her text. As she does, another robotic hand rises from the pile, charging up repulsor blasters. When the texts come, America, without even looking over, reaches out with one hand to suddenly grab that duplicitous Doomfist and just sort of casually crush it into a mess of sparking circuitry while she deftly thumb-types with the other.

Where's she at?

> nah. earth.

is her answer.

Which is, in typical America fashion, both technically true and absolutely vague to the point it illuminates literally nothing.

Shaking her hand free of Doom Debris, she resumes two-thumbed typing a moment later:

> that sounds like a place you just made up btw. hold up one sec.

America Chavez's tattoos glow. Her eyes bleed into pure, cosmic cerulean hues. And...

... and...

Kamala is in the middle of a critical moment, on the cusp of sampling her oil-slathered fries, when a glowing blue star appears just beside her.

It takes exactly one whole second for that start to BURST open into a startling blast of harmless shards of beautiful, cerulean spacetime, floating around her in slow motion like a thousand pieces of glittering glass.

And from it emerges America in a red-and-white striped tanktop and shorts, her denim jacket tied around her waist, largely obscuring black short-shorts, pulling her hair back into a curly mess of a ponytail as she looks around her with lifted brows.

Behind her, one might glimpse the sparking wreckage of what looks like possibly a Doombot designed to look like Taskmaster, raising a sparking fist to the sky and swearing "DOOMMASTER SHALL HAVE VEN" before the star portal just winks out of existence.

"Wow. There really is a roller rink here. What the fuck?"

Kamala Khan has posed:
Kamala Khan, Ms. Marvel, paragon of enthusiastic superheroings. And lesson one of superheroing is 'Don't fall out of your chair when your TOO COOL FRIEND appears out of nowhere.

Lesson two is don't do a spit take with your generic lemon lime soda. Which she also learnt well, though she does kind of wheeze and twitch and her eyes go wide. REAL wide. Like 'Her powers are making her eyes the size of those real good bakery chocolate chip cookies' wide.

Also she wheezes a little and manages not to choke before she hoarsely gurgles out, "Yeahhh... roller rink. Way weirder than..." She gestures vaguely to the point where the portal just disappeared.

And then she stares deadpan at America, "And hey. A roller rink is only marginally more unusual than Gotham having an entire fast food chain based on Batman. Like... they have SILLY burger names based off his associates. He /has/ to own it."

She points at the plate of fries, "Want some? If I eat them all I'm never going to have room for the grilled cheese with turkey bacon."

America Chavez has posed:
Way weirder than...

Kamala gestures. America looks over her shoulder where her portal winked out.

"Bet," she doesn't even hesitate a -single second- to confirm, blithely ignoring any possible traces of sarcasm in the process.

The Utopian is just -that- powerful.

Still, dark brown eyes glance down Kamala's way afterward, catching the way she wheezes. "You good there, chica?" America asks, before making her way to the seat next to the world's most flexible junior hero, flopping back down into it and making herself bonelessly comfortable. From here, she reaches out and pats Kamala once, twice on the back lightly.

It's not precisely clear whether she's teasing Kamala or just legitimately providing comfort in her time of choking-on-soda need.

Maybe it's both??

Regardless -- a little snort follows after from America at Kamala's biting follow up, eyes rolling at the profane existence of Bat Burger.

"Y'know, fair," she says. "You got me there." A second passes. That curly ponytail bounces as she tilts her head to the right. "You think him owning his own franchise makes him more or less unhinged?"

It's a question that may have to wait, when the offer of fries comes. America accepts immediately, already casually pinching a few of those potato products between her fingers to chew on for a few moments; she wags the remains Kamala's way with a little, "thanks, chica," before she looks her very enthusiastic friend's way with the pointed raise of a brow.

"So. You gonna actually rollerskate, or what?"