<div class="floatleft">(https://i.ibb.co/R2GySfh/cap.jpg)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>The Captain (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=344029.msg16244773#msg16244773)<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Velvet Underground T-Shirt/Cargo Pants/Work Boots<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Morgan Stark, Other Gathered Folk<br/><strong>Warnings:</strong>None.<br/><hr/><br/><br/>He is about to say something witty. Or crude. Probably crude. Something about government enforcement agents, their heads and their own asses. Likely a lot more blue than that, when her surprised query registers with him.<br/><br/><i>In a dumpster with a bar of soap...</i><br/><br/>The Captain furrows his brow when she says that. He stretches and there is a soft series of pops along his spine. A reminder that even though he can - and has - survive a fifty caliber round to the face he still needs to work out more.<br/><br/>`That was supposed to be between me and America's Asshole.`<br/><br/>Yeah, it is a bit of a sore spot. Even though he has told literally dozens of people the story over the years. Still, how some fancy girl in a tower with all sorts of... wait? Are those Iron Man suits? He rubs his eyes as if it is going to dispel them and shakes his head.<br/><br/>`Yeah. I told him I used to be named Captain ☠☠☠☠ and he didn't take too kindly to it. You figure a fellow Brooklynite would have a sense of humor.`