A/N: First off, I want to thank every one who is reading this for sticking with me for this long. It really means so much to me.
This chapter contains almost no plot. It is primarily for humor and back story purposes. I was really sick when I wrote this (sorry for the delay, by the way), so it is not my best work by far, even if it is freakishly long.
In this chapter, you will find: Panda Express, Trick Arrows, Subway, Lobster Quiche, Skank Suits, "Jingle Bell Rock", and a McDouble with Cheese, With Mustard And Pickles.
Wow. I must have been really hungry when I wrote this.
Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a write can give to another writer. Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please send me a review or a PM and let me know!
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Happy Reading!
Note: I own no characters in this story, besides Jillian Caruso.
It didn't take Carol long to realize that she was the assistant to Ms. Virginia Potts only in title. Outside of the occasional attended board meeting and filed paper, Carol rarely even saw her responsible employer. Instead, she was subjected to the constant demands of the other residents of Stark Tower's upper floors. Despite constant protests on Carol's part both external and internal that it was not true, one fact became readily apparent: Carol Jane Danvers had become the executive assistant to Earth's Mightiest Heroes, the Avengers.
Carol spent her days bustling about from super-human to super-human, fulfilling all sorts of odd and occasionally insane requests on behalf of her non-employers. Each one had their own preferences and quirks, making peaceful compromise nearly impossible and conflict inevitable. Carol was driven to the brink of insanity more than once, but the requests kept coming. Requests such as:
"Carol, can you fetch me something from Subway?"
"Carol, do you know anything about computers?"
"Carol, why isn't my lobster quiche ready yet?"
"Carol, can you hold my Trick Arrows for a few minutes? Just don't let them move too much, or they'll blow up."
"Carol, can you make sure my 'Aussie Girls Gone Wild' subscription is still current?"
"Carol, can you wash my gym clothes? I don't know how to work that darn washing-thing yet."
Carol had come to despise her own name rather quickly.
It was Friday, the crown jewel of the week. It was the day a working person could throw their hands in the air and say good-bye to their loser co-workers until the awkward Monday, but by that point everyone is still too exhausted to remember. Carol had never been one to commit such an act, because that would be (wait for it) rather unprofessional. However, she had also never been one to allow such a day formed from everything good and pure in existence to simply pass her by. So, with the last shreds of her sanity barely in tact, Carol began to pack her things for returning home for her carefully-planned evening.
It was 7 o'clock, an hour that had come painfully slowly, when Carol had finally finished packing her briefcase with the last of her belongings. It had been two whole work weeks since she had been assigned to the world's stuffiest office, which she had nicknamed rather appropriately "Satan's Crotch". Oddly enough, she had come to like the small, dark, soul-scorching-ly hot little room. It gave her a sense of normalcy and privacy, since the other people in the tower refused to enter.
Carol was practically beaming as she locked the door to her office for the final time that week and began her trek down the dark hallway that led into the main room of the floor. She brought a little bit of a swing to her hips as she strode into the living room and towards the elevator. Her spirits lifted even higher as she viewed her handiwork from the past week: Christmas lights of various sizes and colors provided the indoor landscape with a flash of vibrancy and hominess. Decorations were strewn about on the walls, the ceiling, the countertop of the bar, and almost everywhere else there was space. "Jingle Bell Rock", one of Carol's all-time favorite Christmas songs, was merrily playing from a small radio Carol had bought for that very purpose.
Carol had really outdone herself.
Speaking of home, the current residents of the tower's upper floors were, as usual, nowhere to be found, which in itself was no problem. Them being absent meant an absence of random chores, and Carol was planning on making her escape as quickly as possible before one of the super-needies inevitably appeared and needed something. Her sultry swagger quickened in pace as the slight patter of feet was suddenly audible, heralding a new presence just down the hall from her. After a few moments, the sound disappeared down the corridor. Carol exhaled and smirked at her apparent good fortune and continued her hip-swinging trek down the hall.
Suddenly, just as Carol turned a corner, the one man she hoped she didn't have to see that evening appeared in her vision. Tony Stark's posture was playful and proud as he suddenly clutched her wrist and spun her around. His voice was light and cheerful as he sang.
"Dance with me, Carol-!"
"Don't touch me, Mr. Stark!"
Carol barely broke stride as she continued for the door. She mimicked Tony's sing-song tone as she retorted. Tony had scared her three times already that day, and she had simply become accustomed to his predictability. The earlier drop from the ceiling had been impressive, but he was going to have to more than hide behind a corner to scare Mistress Carol Danvers.
Carol's speed increased ten-fold after she had recovered from being so lamely interrupted. The utter annoyance ringing in her ears must have drowned out the sound of scuffling feet behind her, because she failed to notice that Stark had followed her until her finger was poised to jam the elevator's "down" button. Before she could summon the stainless steel savior, Tony flung himself in between Carol's jab-ready index finger and her means of escape. He smirked triumphantly and received an exasperated glare in return. His voice dripped arrogance and promiscuity.
"Hey, Carrie! Where are you and your sweet ass goin'?"
Carol exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes slightly.
"That's absolutely none of your concern, sir. I would appreciate it if you respected my personal life, my personal space, and my ass, thank you." Carol's tone was sharp but as respectful towards the man who was currently violating every law of personal space ever created and borderline sexually-harassing her. "And if you must know, I'm going home to get some extra work done."
Which is complete and total BS, by the way.
Carol pressed a palm firmly against Tony's ribs and attempted to shove him briskly from her escape route, but Mr. Stark wasn't quite finished.
"You know, you should leave the lying to professionals, like me, because it's my personal opinion that you suck at it." His smirk intensified, as did the bile rising in Carol's throat. "Seriously, spill or I'll have to take things to the next level here." His hand lifted from his side and rested on Carol's shoulder, causing her to shudder from absolute disgust. His eyes, though attempting to appear sensual, only succeeded in looking like the old pervert he was. "So what are you up to, midnight whoring?"
Just as Carol had seriously begun to consider pepper-spraying and then annihilating the testicles of the man who could get her fired at the drop of a hat, or in this case a drop of a foot on testicles, a presence outside of Carol's view suddenly grabbed Tony's attention. His creepy smirk morphed into the expression of a predator as he speedily shimmied his way out from in between Carol and took off after the person of interest.
"Hey, Stevio, where ya goin'? We gotta talk."
The very Steve Rogers-esque groan of exasperation brought a slight smile to Carol's face as she at long last was able to press the elevator button. The sleek metal lift arrived in a split second, and Carol was off to her place, ready for her evening of drunken revelry.
…
Natasha Romanoff stared blankly out the window of the small apartment. Small flecks of white danced and spiraled just past the thick pane of glass. The landscape of St. Petersburg, Russia was trapped in varying shades of grey, painted as such by the silvery winter sky. The streets were dark and vacant as Natasha's glare surveyed them, with only an occasional swirl of leaves or a renegade piece of garbage disturbing the frosty peace. Agent Romanoff concluded that her theory that Russia never changes was proven every time she ventured back into its borders.
A sudden scraping noise from the door caused the ginger assassin to whirl from her position at the window and arm herself in a defensive position, her shoulders hunched and her pistol drawn. The door opened after a tense few moments to reveal a heavily-dressed man laden with plastic bags. He turned towards the woman and his back stiffened at the sight of her gun trained on him. He raised his bag-burdened arms in surrender and began to speak in a slightly bemused but stern tone.
"Wow, Natasha. We've been living together for over a week and I still manage to frighten you."
At the sound of the man's thick southern African accent, Natasha lowered her weapon and rolled her eyes.
"It's not you that startles me, T'Challa. It's just…let's say I'm not very well-liked over here."
Agent Romanoff then strode over to her companion to assist him with carrying his many bags into the small dirty kitchen. The apartment wasn't exactly a 5-star location (Natasha had been shooting rats as they came out of the wall in order to pass them time), but it was the least conspicuous place for the pair to stay until Director Hill could get back in touch with them. After Agent T'Challa had brushed off the grime from an area on the small counter to place the bags, he proceeded to remove the excess clothing from his body. As more and more of her partner was revealed, Natasha internally kicked herself for not recognizing the legendary Black Panther. He was her senior by several years, but he had kept the same youthful appearance since the pair had first met almost 9 years before. He had the same dark skin and green eyes, the same jet-black hair (which Natasha found odd, since his hair was straight in contrast to the curly hair of the majority of his ethnic group), and the same ability to make Natasha feel small. After he had removed the last sweatshirt, he twisted to grab a single red-and-yellow paper bag and shook it. Natasha's nose wrinkled at the sight.
"McDonalds? Really, T'Challa? You know I don't eat that crap."
Her partner arched and eyebrow and smirked, revealing incredibly white and slightly pointed canines. He brought the bag closer to her face and shook it again, its greasy contents rustling tantalizingly.
"Oh really? It's a double, with cheese, pickles, and mustard, a combination I recall being your favorite at one point."
It was true. Natasha Romanoff had always possessed a weakness for greasy cheeseburgers. Perhaps it came from the fact that she had never tasted such a rich, delicious food until she had been an adult. Whatever the case, Natasha Romanoff would do almost anything to get her hands on a "McDonald's McDouble with cheese, hold the ketchup and onions". Despite her currently stoic countenance, the inside of her mouth began to fill with saliva at the heavenly aroma. It only took a moment for her desire for the godly food to overcome her, and she snatched the bag from T'Challa's hands. She scowled at the grin on her companion's face, but immediately dug into the bag to collect the deliciousness. As she tore open the paper, the Black Panther began to speak.
"I told you. And I do not just forget a lovely woman's preferences. It's a blessing and a curse." He received a greasy, mouth-filled glower but continued. "Point made. By the way, why are we still in St. Petersburg, anyway? There has not been a sighting in almost 5 days."
The purpose for the pair of ebony agents remaining in Russia was the fact that there had been several sightings of Kree individuals lurking throughout the city and its surrounding countryside. Granted, there had only been three sightings in total (one of which ending in a civilian gunning the creature down with a double barreled shotgun; sometimes, Natasha could really love the people of the Motherland), but Director Hill wasn't taking any chances. The creatures were dangerous, destructive, and most of all unpredictable, so it seemed best to keep tabs on any appearance they might make.
Natasha's made a wet and rather unattractive sound as she swallowed.
"We can't take any chances. Any little blip the Kree radar is to be treated as a matter of international security. Also, you of all people should know it's not a good idea to go against one of Director Hill's orders, since you just got off of probation and all."
T'Challa scoffed before retorting.
"That woman may be my superior, but she does not scare me. The Kree threat is all but gone from here, Natasha, and I am pretty sure the people can handle one or two if they appear."
Natasha narrowed her eyes. Despite being her senior, T'Challa had always possessed an ability to be immature and foolhardy that had almost botched several missions he had been on. The vast majority of the almost-botched missions had been successes thanks to T'Challa's quick thinking, but one in particular, on which Natasha had been his partner, had gone horribly wrong and had resulted in the pair getting torn new ones by Director Fury. After that, the pair had been teamed up together a number of times, him acting as her almost mentor until Clint Barton, her rescuer from Russia, had been established as her primary partner.
"But what if a whole team appears and the city is lost? Think, T'Challa, think before you speak."
"It's also obvious that you want to leave."
Natasha stiffened slightly. Was she that easy to read?
"I told you, I know you, Natasha. You're predictable and pretty easy for me to read. You wanted to go with that box back to America. Why didn't you?"
Thoroughly pissed off now, Natasha bit back her face venomous and her voice frosty.
"Yes, I wanted to go. But Hill called and told me to stay, that Agents Barton and Drew would handle it and everything would be taken care of."
The Black Panther pondered for a moment, allowing for the Black Widow to continue tearing into her burger, before he asked.
"So, how is Agent Barton? Is he enjoying his new partner?"
Natasha's head snapped in his direction and glared furiously, blood unconsciously rushing to her face.
No. No he's not. He will never like having her as a partner. EVER.
Before Natasha could even speak, T'Challa snapped his fingers and grinned.
"So, I'm guessing that you want to go see Agent Barton. That's why you wanted to leave."
Fury boiled with Natasha for the accusation, but her voice remained scarily calm.
"If you're assuming that there is something going on between Barton and me, you are an imbecile. When I start a mission, I make it a point to finish and make sure it's finished right. This mission just so happens to lead to Barton and Drew."
T'Challa placed his hands in the air before grinning and shaking his head.
"I am not assuming anything. You virtually just told me, but that no longer matters. What does matter is that you are leaving for America and the fair Agent Barton as soon as it is possible."
Natasha's biting quip died on her tongue as shock filled her mind and slightly softened her expression.
"Excuse me?"
"You are leaving to 'finish your mission' as soon as we can get you on a plane. I can stay here and make sure everything goes well."
At that moment, Agent T'Challa was gifted with an opportunity to see Natasha Romanoff, the feared Black Widow, gape. She had no idea how to respond to this. He had just returned her verbal abuse with an amazing gift of mercy. After a second or so of silence, Natasha regained her composure and spoke with a slight shake in her voice.
"Thank you, but no. This is my mission more so than yours, and I can't just abandon this. The mission always comes first."
But T'Challa was not taking no for an answer in this situation.
"Well then, as your senior agent, I am hereby reassigning you. I will fill out the paperwork myself if I need to, but you are going, that's an order. And if Hill calls, I'll tell her you're still here."
"Why are you doing this, T'Challa?"
"Because it pains me to see you in such a 'funk' as you say. Besides, who am I to stand in the way of love?" T'Challa flourished his hands and received a dark glare from Natasha. "Ahem…I mean, the mission of the century."
Natasha sighed. "Thank you again, but I can't. Hill said no."
"You're right, you're right. I guess she can just order you around without any consideration for your desires. Fury didn't do that. You were one of the best agents in all of SHIELD."
"Still am."
T'Challa grinned again. "Are you sure about that? Because if I were one of the best agents in all of SHIELD, I would not let myself be ordered around by a SHIELD Academy brown-noser with a clipboard and a scary voice."
"Neither would I."
"Then why are you?"
Natasha remained still for a few moments, a thick silence lingering in the air, before quickly whirling around and taking several confident strides towards her bedroom.
"Get my satchel, will you? I need to call ahead and get my ticket. I have a plane to catch."
…
Carol could not remember a time when she had needed to wear this much make-up before. Several palettes containing hundreds of shades of eye-shadow, lipstick, blush, and many different kinds of make-up in shades ranging from the extra-whorish "Kiss My Ass Crimson" to the safer "Maybe Some Other Time, I Have Bible Study in 15 Minutes Peach".
As she picked up the first brush and lightly swept its bristles against the first facial masking material, a slightly copper bronzer, Carol reflected upon what had brought her to this new point in her life. She had received the call three days before on Tuesday evening. Of course, evening was an understatement, being that her phone had started ringing at 1:53 AM. Carol had barely understood the frantic voice of her asshole-of-a caller.
"Ohmigod, Carrie. You. Me. Hittin' the clubs. Friday night."
Carol had simply sighed, not fully understanding the lightning-fast garble the feminine voice had used.
"H-hello? Who is this? Is this Jillian?"
"C'mon , girl! We're young! We're hot! And you've got money! Let's tear some shit up this weekend!"
The ex-sleeper groaned and turned over in her bed in a futile attempt to return to slumber and to dispel the ringing in her ears caused by the shrieking tone. Carol Danvers and Jillian Caruso had been best friends back home in Boston since grade school, and Carol knew fully well that her friend had always been a major money-spender, especially with Carol's money.
"Jillian, you know I'm not a clubbing kind of girl. And I do have money. Money that I'm saving up for a better apartment, by the way."
"Eh, apartment shmapartment. We're going out on Friday. It's happenin', Blondie. I've got your clothes and everything waiting in your mailbox. See ya then, bitch."
With that final derogatory pet name, Jillian's annoying falsetto was cut off, leaving Carol with much to say and only a dull robotic hum as a reply.
Back in the present time, Carol felt as though she was selling herself out. She was a good girl: smart, polite, church-going Christian, conservative with her money and her body. She was no harlot. But here she was, turning herself into the likeness of a common street walker. She walked herself through what she needed to do.
Step 1: Whore Face.
Blush, lipstick, eye shadow, eyeliner, bronzer, and…fake eyelashes?
Oh hell-to-the-no on that one.
My eyelashes already kick ass on their own.
My lips look like a just drank a person's blood.
My cheeks are so pink it looks like I got bitch-slapped by the Good Witch of the North.
I'm orange. Screw bronzer.
Fully caked with powders and sticks of all colors and shades, it was time for the second horrendous act of Carol's weekend.
Ok, Step Two: Whore Body
The first article of clothing that Carol picked up was a red strip of cloth that had obviously been ripped. It seemed to have a strange excuse for a strap.
Oh no. No no no. That's…for a monkey.
BUT, Jillian was in charge of Carol's clothing for the evening, and she'd probably literally rip the shirt from Carol's back if she showed up wearing anything different. So, Carol put on her big-girl panties (quite literally, she pulled on a pair of pink, lacy underwear that Jillian had also provided), slipped herself from her strapped bra and slipped on the strapless one Jillian had ALSO provided, and pulled the incredibly revealing strip of clothing over head and over her breasts.
The next piece of clothing was a pair of black leather shorts. As Carol swallowed her morals and heaved the shorts, it was revealed that the cow-hide pants barely came past the halfway point of her thighs.
Yep. Now I look like a dominatrix. Great.
The last thing Jillian had provided was a pair of jet-black heels, the spikes almost as tall as some of the small buildings in the city. The total look screamed "whore", "harlot", and many other derogatory terms for bitch, but Carol didn't care. She felt powerful and strong, like nothing could tear her down in her new attire.
Carol had never felt so alive.
…
The heavy bass vibrated rhythmically and powerfully in Steve Roger's ears as he and his smirking companion were ushered through the doors of "Electric Symphony". "Electric Symphony" stood in all of its neon glory as one of the most popular night clubs in all of New York, with the best DJs, the widest selection of alcoholic beverages, and the most celebrity appearances in the entire city. Sweaty, fevered bodies collided against each other everywhere Steve looked, and tipsy individuals in booths along the walls whooped and hollered at each other's less-than-wholesome jokes.
In short, it was not the sort of place the great Captain America would have been at any point in time under his own power.
However, Tony Stark had always been a rather persuasive man.
The conversation had begun 3 hours earlier back in Stark Tower as Steve had been heading to his room to bed down for the night. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and annoying jackass Tony Stark had thrown himself in the doorway of Steve's room, receiving an eye-roll.
"Hey, Steve. We should go out tonight."
The symbol of America simply grunted and placed a hand firmly on Stark's shoulder in an attempt to dislodge him from the doorway. However, Tony refused to budge, and Steve really didn't really want to hurt the man who had given him a place to live.
"Tony, we've been over this quite a few times. I don't agree with a lot of the things you do on a regular basis, and I'm pretty sure that whatever you're going to do tonight will be going against my moral values. So, no, I will not be doing any "going out" with you tonight, for the umpteenth time. So if you don't mind…" Steve shoved Tony's shoulder a second time a bit more firmly, but Tony refused to give an inch.
"C'mon, Captain Chastity. We really need to get you out of your comfort zone."
"My comfort zone is fine for me, thank you."
It was Stark's turn to roll his eyes. "Exactly. And your comfort zone is making you miserable. I mean, do you enjoy this constant routine of 'wake up, work out, ogle Carol, and go to bed'?"
The good Captain scoffed indignantly. "I do not ogle Carol! And I actually enjoy routine. It makes me feel secure."
"First off, lies. Your eyes have been on her ass more than mine have, and that's saying something. Look," Tony said as he adopted a slightly sympathetic expression and tone, "I know that you've been through a lot in the past couple of years, with the whole 'waking up to find everyone you knew and loved died' thing. I really think that going out and having fun could really improve your outlook on life a bit."
"My outlook on life is fine, thank you."
Stark's expression of sympathy swiftly tightened into one of desperation.
"Please will you go? Please please please!? Pepper says I can't go unless I have a chaperone! And the only one Pepper really trusts here is you! PLEASE GO WITH ME!"
Tony began to slump in the doorway as Steve snorted with pride at his successful deduction of the complete and total bull crap that Stark had tried to feed him, despite Stark's horrid delivery and lack of patience helping him along. Tony DID have a point, however. Pepper had told Steve that she trusted him to take care of Tony when she couldn't. Tony also had the maturity and foresight of a horny teenaged boy, so him being anywhere in public by himself was sure to have consequences that could easily be described as cataclysmic. Steve's body filled with heat as his mind conflicted upon itself before finally coming to a damning conclusion.
"Fine, I'll go. But this is the first and last time, got it?"
In the present, Steve was currently regretting almost every word that had spilled from his mouth, except for the "last time" bit at the end. Tony had immediately pounced on him, flinging several pieces of "appropriate attire" at him and telling him to get changed. Now he stood in a pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and a black t-shirt of Tony's that was several sizes too small. He felt like a freak among freakier freaks. He felt so alone, nervous, ashamed, and excited all at the same time, and he didn't really enjoy the feeling Steve hunched his shoulders and turned, hoping to make a speedy escape before Tony could notice, when a hand pounded him on the back. Steve's head swiveled to allow him to glare at the jackass who had manipulated him, but Stark paid him no heed as he surveyed the crowd with a smirk.
"Great turn-out tonight, ay Cap? Lots'a pretty little girl to dance with, yeah?"
Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms to speak, but his voice came out as a nervous almost squeak.
"I wouldn't call this dancing exactly, rather than just sharing sweat and genitals."
Stark made a face. "Well, Scrooge, let's not ruin the fun for everyone else, okay?" Suddenly, Tony's hands began to flap frantically as something caught his attention. "There's a real hottie over there! You should go chat her up."
Steve's face blanched at the suggestion, his hands becoming clammy and his fingers shaking slightly.
"Tony, you know I'm not good in crowded places, especially when there are," he swallowed, "young women involved."
Tony put his hand to his chin in thought for a moment before comically snapping his fingers with an idea and turning to his companion.
"What you need is an icebreaker, something to loosen the tension in the situation. I happen to know one that's a real lady-killer."
Tony looked to Steve for a response, but he remained stock-still, so Tony continued.
"Repeat after me: 'are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see.' It's fool-proof, I promise."
Steve completely missed the devious grin on Stark's face as a scowl developed on his face.
"'Tennessee, ten I see'? That's sounds stupid! Even I can tell that one won't work!"
Stark shrugged, the velvet of his suit wrinkling slightly. "Well, it's your loss. You never know if you don't try."
Steve's eyes rolled as he desperately attempted to fish up another excuse from the depths of his mind. He knew, and his companion knew, that his defenses were wearing thin.
"Besides, I highly doubt anyone in a place of this caliber would be anywhere near my type. So, I guess we'll never know."
Ever up for a challenge, Tony's eyes went from lazily drooping to scrutinizing the crowd with a hawk-like proficiency.
"What about that one?" He jabbed a finger at a dark haired girl laughing at a table.
"That girl has so much ink on her body that she could supply the world with pens for all eternity."
"That one? She's a really cutie."
"You mean the one with her tongue down that man's throat?"
"Umm…hm… that little hottie?" Tony indicated a tall, pale girl with a jet-black braid and a short skirt."
Steve cocked his head to the side, quickly becoming irritated by this guessing game.
"Yes, she's very pretty, but not really my kind of girl."
"Okay, I know you'll like that one."
"I'm pretty sure that's a man, Tony."
Stark's brow furrowed in frustration as he shook his head and raised his hands.
"Picky, picky, picky! No wonder you never get any dates."
Steve's eyes blankly scanned the crowd a final time, fully prepared to shut Tony up once and for all.
And then he saw her.
She was a vision of blonde hair, bronze skin, and twisting limbs in a scarlet strip of cloth and a pair of incredibly sexy leather shorts. Sweat shot off of her as her body moved with the music. Her hips swung smoothly, showing off her oh-so-sexy waistline and legs. Steve's mouth was suddenly dry as he gave a chin-dropped smile for the exquisite creature.
"I like her."
Tony's eyes ricocheted from the ass of one of the many lovely dancers to the area where Steve was smiling rather perv-like.
"Who?"
Steve's finger extended and pointed directly at this one girl in the crowd. There was no mistaking it.
"You mean that flurry ball of blonde dancing like she's high?"
It was true. The girl Steve was apparently drooling over was flailing her limbs about like an epileptic spider-monkey. Her hair was a massive blonde fur ball that bobbed about as she moved. Her body was slicked with gross sweat that splattered off in all directions, much to the disgust of the many people around her. Even the tall, pale girl with the black braid, who seemed to be her friend, was giving her a pained smile and dancing awkwardly next to her rabidly gyrating friend. It was almost painful to watch. Tony's incredulous gaze moved to Steve's dreamy gape and witnessed the super soldier nod lamely. After a few moments, Steve took a step forward towards the girl. Tony swiftly grabbed a hold of Steve's elbow in an attempt to halt the social suicide, but he was shrugged away. Tony's cringe grew larger and larger as Steve grew nearer to the flailing mass, until his voice could be heard over the music.
"ARE YOU FROM TENNESSEE? 'CAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY TEN-I-SEE!"
What happened next would go down in Avengers history.
…
Carol had been tugging at her shorts in an attempt to save as much of her body from public scrutiny as possible when she and Jillian first entered "Electric Symphony. The dark haired half of the not-so-dynamic duo had gone for an even more-revealing approach with her 3-inch-long miniskirt and a v-neck blouse, which made Carol like more of a skank and less of one at the same time. Jillian Caruso was practically beaming and Carol Danvers was almost crying at the sight: the entire building was pulsing with people, music, and neon light.
The earth-shattering bass thumped rhythmically against Carol's ear drums, causing her bracelets to vibrate almost as quickly as her heart was beating. She couldn't believe how nervous and uneasy she felt about the whole evening. They were just dancing, right? Despite her desperate pleas with her mind, it refused to allow Carol to have any semblance of fun in this sort of place. Its idea of fun was playing paper basketball and surfing Pinterest for hours at a time. It was the mind of a good girl. And right now it was starting to really suck.
Jillian seemed to sense Carol's apprehension as they strode through the doors (Jillian apparently "knew somebody"), and she proceeded to confront her quivering companion in the most intimate yell she could muster.
"HEY! WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HAVING FUN!"
After Carol recovered from the suddenly-doubled audio blitzkrieg against her ear drums, she attempted to respond in as civilized a manner as she could find within her.
Hm…let's see: I'm standing here freezing my ass off in a slut suit in a place that smells like scotch and STDs. I know you're not very smart, but do the math, sweetie.
"I…I DON'T THINK I'M REALLY CUT OUT FOR THIS WHOLE CLUBBING THING! WHY DON'T WE JUST GO GRAB SOMETHING FROM PANDA EXPRESS AND CALL IT A NIGHT!?"
That phrase seemed to greatly anger Jillian, as she grabbed Carol's elbow and dragged her into a somewhat-quieter (keyword: somewhat) corner, a stern look upon her face as she spun Carol to face her and growled.
"Look, I know this really isn't your "thing" (really mature, Jil, air quotes), but this is your one night to cut loose and have your fun. I've seen your bitch-fits about your job on Facebook, and I think you really need this. This is for your own good, Carrie." Her face softened considerably as she continued. "C'mon, girl. It's time to dig up Crazy Carrie from college and just tear some shit up tonight."
For some inexplicable reason known only to the female mind, this litter "pep talk" bolstered Carol's confidence in the situation. Still, she wasn't quite sure.
"I…I don't know, Jillian. It's just feels sorta wrong."
Carol didn't like Jillian's smile of pure evil just then.
"I think I know just the way to change that."
Jillian then spun on her heel (an impressive feat, given that her heels were strapped in 3-inch stilettos) and strode towards the bar, an increasingly unsure Carol close behind. Just as she reached the bar, the dark-haired young lady stuck her fingers in her mouth and let fly a powerfully piercing whistle so loud that it garnered attention across the club. She offered the suddenly alert bartender three fingers and an irritated look, causing the man to hurriedly begin mixing several forms of alcohol. After a moment or so of frantic shaking and pouring, the man gave Jillian her ordered beverage and a panicked smile. Jillian about-faced and came back to her questioning companion. Before Carol could utter a word, Jillian spoke in a clipped tone.
"He's an ex-boyfriend I could easily blackmail." She smiled again and brought the drink into Carol's view. It was tall and clear, with a small pink umbrella in the top. "Carrie, have you ever tried this?"
"What is it?" Carol sniffed the suspicious liquid, and the fluid burned her nose.
"It's a mixture of Sprite, vodka, mineral water, and a shit-ton of whiskey. I like to call it 'Good Girl's Inhibitions'." She placed the glass into Carol's unwanting hands. "Now drink up. It's going to be a long night."
After a moment of hesitation, Carol brought the frosty glass to her lips and downed the drink, the alcohol burning her throat and stomach.
Jillian's smile grew more and more sinister as she turned around and threw the sheepish man another three-fingered salute. It really was going to be a along night.
Jillian had expected Carol to let go a little bit and let her hair down after a couple of her signature drinks, and maybe they would cause her to get a little buzz.
It was a true pity that she had neglected to recall Carol's alcohol-containment-capacity as being ranked as "super-puss lightweight" back at school. It took only three drinks for Carol's inhibitions, balance, and most of her other senses to be blown right out of her ass. Currently, the pair was sitting in two small leather chairs along the back wall of the club. Jillian's face was smiling with a twinge of pain at her friend's unruly behavior as she sipped on her Pink Bikini. In short, Jillian Caruso looked like the kind of girl who knew her way around a club scene and a bar. Carol, on the other hand, was laughing hysterically, her eye make-up dripping down her face and her hair frizzed in all directions. She brought her fifth "Good Girl's Inhibitions" to her lips to chug between fits of laughter, rivers of alcohol streaming down her chin and on to her top. It was a truly embarrassing sight. Even Carol's thought processes were jumbled messes.
LikE OHMiGaWD, I ReaLLY ShoUlDn'T hAvE Had ThAt LASt dRInk, BuT IT WaS SOoOoOoO GoOd. I dOn'T eVeN kNoW wHaT tHe HeLl Is So FuNnY, bUt I'm LaUgHiNg OhMiGaWd.
Unable to witness any more and hoping to atone for her lack of foresight, Jillian placed a hand on her friend's knee and spoke in an almost maternal tone.
"Carrie? Umm… I think it's time we got you home. Maybe we can go grab something from Panda Express like you said earlier, okay?"
Unfortunately, Carol's laughter doubled in intensity as she slammed her glass down on the table.
"F-fuck pandassss…I'm having, hic, so much fu-fu-funnn…"
Jillian's hand recoiled quickly to avoid Carol's slapping hand as she was overcome with a drunken idea.
"You…you know what we should do? We should…we should go dance! Yeah! Dance!"
Before Jillian could do anything to stop her friend, Carol was gone, flinging herself into the mass of gyrating bodies. Carol couldn't have cared less about the many people she slammed into on her trek to find the perfect dancing spot. Jillian followed closely behind in order to make sure her uncannily beleaguered friend did not pose any major threat to herself or others. It was an interesting role reversal.
Carol began flailing at 1:35, and was still doing so at 2:12, much to Jillian's impression and horror. Her arms and legs flapped about in random directions, slicking her body with bitter sweat of almost straight alcohol and showering it upon those unlucky enough to be within five feet of her. Her hair tangled upon itself like a lion's mane. It was painful to watch, but Jillian did not have the heart (or simply possessed the sadism) to stop her friend before a large blonde man began to stride his way over to her. Despite the man's drop-dead gorgeous looks, there was no way that she was going to let her friend get picked up in such a state. Jillian was just reaching into her purse for her can of Mace when the man began to speak.
"ARE YOU FROM TENNESSEE? BECAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY TEN-I-SEE!"
Jillian could have pissed herself laughing, had it not been for the complete and total earnestness in the man's voice.
Carol didn't to hear the man for a moment before whirling around to stop, her face in the exact opposite direction from where the man was standing. She spoke, her mind throwing together something that sounded remotely intelligent.
"IS…IS THAT PIECE OF CHEESY SHIT LINE THE BEST YOU GOT? YOU MUST BE OUTTA YOUR DAMN MIND IF YOU THINK-."
Carol turned around to face the ass-wagon.
It is said that Carol Danvers set a world record for sobering up in the least amount of time at that moment, but this statement was never proven. Regardless, every ounce of liquor drained from Carol's burning blood as she began to speak, her voice a barely audible hoarse whisper.
"St-Steve? What…what are you doing here?"
Seriously, is this man freaking everywhere?
Steve seemed to choose the easier option of not responding, something that Carol became quickly thankful for. The pair simply stared at each other in disbelief: him disbelieving that the vivacious and gorgeous girl he had seen was the same girl he saw every day who wore a suit and a poker face every day to work, and her disbelieving that the perfect symbol of American purity would be in a place like this wearing that. The silent staring contact swiftly began to degrade from enormously awkward to downright creepy as the minutes drew on. Suddenly, as if by some unspoken mutual agreement, the pair both about-faced and began marching back towards their respective sides of the club, neither uttering a word and their faces drawn into wide-eyed grimaces.
…
The look on Steve's face immediately tipped Tony off that things had not gone very well, as he had expected. When Steve blew right passed him and his smirk to grab his jacket, Tony rushed over and began questioning.
"So, how did it go?"
Steve's expression never changed as he turned abruptly to face Tony and uttered between his teeth.
"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous." Steve then bolted for the door.
…
Jillian was still at a loss as to what the ever-loving hell had just happened. Carol had been merrily flopping about when the man had come up to her, and now after some cheesy pick-up line, Carol was grabbing her purse and heading towards the door. Jillian was almost forced to run (which would have been nearly impossible in her shoes) after her friend in order to get some answers.
"Carol! What the hell just happened? Are you okay?"
Carol simply paused and spoke only three words, her voice strained from her taut facial expression.
"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous." Carol then wasted not time in marching her way towards the front of the club.
…
The pair arrived at the front of the club, their confused comrades in tow, at relatively the same time. For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the overpowering sound of the rest of the club. Steve reached for the door handle and pushed the glass construct open, extending his arm to hold it steady. His voice was the same as during his words with Tony as he spoke.
"Ladies first."
Carol's response was in the exact tone as before.
"Thank you."
She then hurried out into the night, her completely lost accomplice hot on her heels.
"Where are we off to now, Carrie? Home, I hope?"
Carol shook her head.
"Nope. Panda Express. I'm going to need some comfort foot after this."