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[stands_for_hope]

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For great justice

[perilicious]

Every mission had a great number of factors. Strategy. Armaments. Planning. Calculation of variables. It was impossible to know everything that could happen over the course of a mission, and if it had been an easy job, they would not have sent someone so highly skilled. The fight on the rooftop had attracted attention in the form of helicopters, at least one of them law enforcement, but there had been very little point in flashing a tiny badge from so far away. The person trying very very hard to kill him had also been a factor, and so he had ignored the floodlights and focused on his objective. The mission, complete the mission.

As the fingers clinging to the rough stone began to grow numb and he realized, with a sort of stark clarity, that there was nothing he could do and he was most certainly going to fall, Illya wondered what it meant about him that it was a consolation to know that he had completed the mission. It wasn't long after that thought before he finally lost his grip on the roof and a spotlight followed him down toward the street.

[stands_for_hope]

Ilya probably did not expect a sudden pause in his descent, at least not one that ended with him still alive and unharmed. He definitely didn't expect warm, solid arms around him or a somewhat familiar face with twinkling blue eyes to stare back at him. Nor a deep, comforting voice telling him in flawless Russian--

"I've got you. Let's get down to where you can get the earth under your feet, eh?"

[perilicious]

There were certain reflexes every good agent developed, and one of them was what to do when caught in a circle of arms. Unfortunately, while not all of Illya's defensive techniques required a flat surface, all of them did require him to be able to move. The grip was not tight by any means, but it was absolutely solid, and so he could do very little but stare, wide-eyed, and attempt to process this new unpredicted variable.

Shrugging off that he'd been about to die, that was easy. Shrugging off that he was being flown to safety by someone who looked far too much like his partner? That was giving him trouble.

"You speak better Russian than I expected."

[stands_for_hope]

"I'm a citizen of the world, my friend," he answered easily enough, giving a warm smile that was a bit too genuine for Solo to pull off. Then they were landing and those steel arms were being opened for Ilya to stand on his own feet.

Superman gave him a light pat on one arm before tilting his head to the rooftop.

"Would you like a little assistance cleaning that up?"

[perilicious]

The flying was a hint that this was not Solo. He was fairly certain he would know by now if Solo could do that. At least he hoped this was not Solo. If it was, he was resigning.

To his credit, Illya was commendably steady when he was finally set down, alive and whole and in far better shape than he had expected to be not thirty seconds previously. He followed Superman's gaze and considered. Technically, the mission was completed. The would-be assassin had been assassinated. And because of that, more awkwardly, there was at least one dead body up there, courtesy of his handiwork. Perhaps it would be better to avoid those questions. "...no. Thank you. I was finished there."

[stands_for_hope]

His head tilted up and he gave a good long look at the top of the building from their place on the ground before turning back to Ilya.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

And it's almost as if he's cutting off part of what he'd meant to say. Right at the end there.

[perilicious]

"It is true that I am arranging my own extraction this time," he said absently. Most people, after a near-death experience, would have some trouble focusing on anything but the fact that they were still alive. Illya was not one of them, and that little almost-addition caught his attention.

The kernel of suspicion had only just been planted two minutes ago, when he had caught sight of the face of his rescuer. It was in full bloom now, and just about ready to bear fruit. Illya folded his arms without looking away from that very familiar face. "Hm. Explains some things. Nice to see you again."

text?

[starr_power]

Hey, so, I know you're usually not big on the society column, but any chance I could talk you into covering the fundraiser Starrware's holding Friday?

[stands_for_hope]

You want me or do you want Cat to head that way? Either way, I'll make sure someone's there.

How's it going?

[starr_power]

Not that Cat's not a great writer, but I'd rather have someone who can do more than hide under a buffet table screaming in case things go sideways.

It's...been one of those weeks. You know. What about you?

[stands_for_hope]

Ah.

Well, then. That's a slightly different story. I'll make sure I'm there.

Everything's been relatively calm around here.

Relatively being business as usual meaning that he'd had two robberies, an attack by the Toyman, and an off-planet issue that he'd had to attend to since Green Lantern had been busy.

Do you need anything other than the fundraiser?

[stands_for_hope]

He hadn't been quite sure why he'd invited her back. Well, no. He was damn sure. This woman felt... the same. There was a sort of kinship here and he wanted to explore it well beyond the bounds of any kind of professional curiosity. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful, that he could see her grace and the subtle difference in her movements that spoke to her prowess on the battlefield.

He's no stranger to one night stands, after all. Sometimes, he thinks his college career could be boiled down to two experiences: writing up his assignments at superspeed ten minutes before class and having literally as much sex as he could possibly manage. To be fair, it'd started after his father had passed away and then it'd continued past bad life decisions made in mourning to a desperate need to white out his senses every once in a while. 'Every once in a while' being as often as possible.

He'd figured out an equilibrium but he wouldn't say he hadn't sown his oats. He just had assumed that his oats had been sown at this point, at least well enough that this was certainly out of the norm. But he couldn't regret it the second she pushed him against a wall and started kissing him. He really liked kisses, liked the way they set the stage, liked the way they narrowed the world down to one person in your arms. So when she kisses him, he kisses back, one absent thought given to the fortitude of his walls since he could swear he heard a crack. Then his only thoughts are of her and--

He spins them, presses her against the wall with what is definitely a crackle of paint, and starts worshiping at her throat as one of his hands goes to undo his tie. Yes, he remembers this dance.

[hevenly]

Being the Head of the Hunt, Angela had had her pick of lovers in Heven, though men as a whole were something new. New and exciting, if Clark was any proof. Dusty chips of paint fly from the wall when he turns the tables, and she grins heartily as he applies daring kisses to her neck. She was right about his hidden strength. She loves being right.

Her hands slide up his sides to tug at his collar, and he may have to invest in a new shirt, because she gives absolutely no care for buttons as she tears it open, hands curling in the hair on his chest. A low groan of satisfaction and arousal rises from her throat.

For Great Curiosity

[reytheforcebewithyou]

She was back on Jakku. Not to stay, she knew better now, but she had to get her things and her little plants. She couldn't stand the thought of them waiting for her to return to them. After she packed up, she took her speeder back to the nearest village to wait for her ride back to base. It wasn't there yet, so she stepped into the cantina for a drink.

[stands_for_hope]

There's a man there who sticks out like a sore thumb.

It's clear that he's trying to blend in, really he is, but there's a presence around him that just screams that this is not his place, this is not where he belongs. He's wearing a jumble of clothing, pieces that he's made work together as opposed to anything that should, and the strangest part of him is that he doesn't seem to be at all affected by the heat. He looks like he's trying to look like he is but... to anyone looking, it wouldn't actually fool them.

[reytheforcebewithyou]

She looked at him a moment, and then ordered her drink, and then looked at him again. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her and she went over to him to aks,

"Where did you come from?"

[stands_for_hope]

He looked up, clearly startled that he'd been spoken to at all before blushing a little and ducking his head.

"I stick out that much?"

Because why not.

[dutybred]

The worst part about going nomad was leaving his family behind, but with how things stood with Clay after the shit with Donna and everything else, Jax needed the time, needed the space to clear his head. And the club had just been pulling him down. So yeah, he'd taken off, given up his position.

And when he'd gotten word Tara had taken the job in Chicago, he'd almost been relieved. She'd be better off without them, no matter what he'd said to her before and Abel was safe with Gemma and the other girls.

At least for the time being and it wasn't like he never got to see him.

At the moment though, he was on his circuit up into Oregon, 10 hours into the ride and looking for the next place he could stop to take a break.

[stands_for_hope]

And alongside the road was a hitchhiker.

He had a dufflebag over his shoulders and clean, if slightly tattered clothing that had clearly been traveling almost as long as he had. He was taller than most but not too tall, broader if you were the sort to notice it around bowed shoulders and a tendency to make himself smaller. More harmless. But the eyes were clear and the feeling around him was...

Safe. Earnest.

Up to Jax if he stopped for him, though.

[dutybred]

He noticed the hitchhiker of course, given he hadn't seen anyone on the road for a while and especially not anyone walking. First impulse was to keep going, honestly, and Jax usually trusted his instincts.

Usually.

But he also hadn't had all that much interaction with anyone beyond staff at food restaurants and the occasional night at one of the other clubhouses. Which were behind him the farther north he went.

So he pulled over, against his better judgment, even if his hand was on the gun he had tucked below his hoodie. "...Car trouble?"

[stands_for_hope]

Clark can see the gun, because he looks for those kind of things when he gets someone to stop, but he doesn't make any indication of it. Instead, he offers a sweet, crooked sort of smile before shrugging his shoulder.

"I'd need a car for that. Just trying to get from one place to another."

[dutybred]

"On foot?" Not that he hasn't seen hitchhikers before, but they're generally more localized, not on all but abandoned sections of road. And it was a good 30 miles to the next town.

He shifted off the bike for a moment, giving the other man an appraising look before tossing him the spare helmet. "Your lucky day I guess. Next town might have a bus station or trucker depot.

Not that you'd have much luck with them."

[stands_for_hope]

He doesn't comment on the 'on foot' thing since his speed on foot could outdo any machine, but he catches the helmet. It's pushed down on his head before he offers a faint smile of thanks at the other man; a bit of finagling and the duffle and he are both settled on the bike.

"Thank you," he says out loud, voice soft and low. Quiet. The voice of someone who doesn't speak often, but smooth enough.

[dutybred]

The thanks gets a shrug and then the roar of the motor drowns out any need to really talk for the ride, and honestly, Jax doesn't really relax until the guy's off his bike again once they hit the town.

And then he parks in front of the first diner, glancing at the guy for a moment. "You got enough cash for a bus?"