This place is about nine ways to crazy on a good day. Seriously. What is the deal with this place?

Looks like this trip to crazy town is dragging on a bit longer than I anticipated. Guess I'm going to need to find a job eventually. So. What kind of options do they give us 'fictional' folks.

Seeing as whatever credentials we might have had 'never existed'. Seems a bit difficult to measure someone's skill set when everything they've done until now was some kind of fairytale bullshit. Or do they have some kind of record on who all of us are. Holding out on the source materials, Uncle Sam?

Anyone know where I might find some silver. Real silver, not that imitation crap they have in the regular store.

[Private Magneto/Erik]
Hey. I need to talk to you. In person.

[Private Loki]
Hey, kid. Looks like we're fresh out of groceries again. Go ahead. Hit me with your worst. I'll hit the store on the way back.

[ It's quiet for a very long time. And when she speaks, she's distant, upset.

Maybe if she had gone, she could have done something. ] I am sorry.

[ He's only got one more week until Thanksgiving, and so he's pretty sure he should start his shopping now, especially while he has a day off. So Steve is at the store, and he figures while he's there, he should ask his housemates if they want anything in particular. ]

Hey! I know to get all the usuals, but is there anything anyone wants specifically for Thanksgiving this year? And yes, Bucky, I'm gonna make Nan's apple pie.

Want.

Not a crime to take some me time, guys.

America, I need your assistance. It's an important mission.