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Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2016 1:55:45 GMT
[googlefont=Asar] [attr="class","carrie"]The city was freezing, each street seeming to scream with the cold air that blew in from over the misty harbour, howls that groaned low in his ears, drumming and numbing his cheeks a pale pink. Huddled in the minuscule warmth his jacket offered, the man sat on the bench, one of many that littered Central Park. Perhaps he looked odd, one of the very few out and about so early in the morning, but it was perhaps one of the only times in the day where he could walk the crowded city without being bombarded with endless chatter and contact. It was the touch that was the worse. Brushing elbows was a sure way of sparking the visions. Shuddering, rubbing the palms of his hands together, Clark cast his eyes out over the emerald grass, perfectly manicured; quiet. There was a set of joggers across the pond, winding their way along the gravel path. To his right, he could just make out the front entrance, and beyond, the city slowly starting to wake up.[break][break]It was grey, the sky above a monochrome cast, large clouds that would probably burn off by noon, if not the smog. Rising like blades of glass, sky rises landed the park, their tips glowing hot, reflecting like crystal. He could almost pretend he was alone. Why the hell did he not take up the docs advice, move to a more secluded location, a small town surrounded by rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. Perhaps it was some foolish reason, that if he moved away, his legs tucked between his legs, it would win. Stubborn she always said, amused by reasoning. It was childish really, especially if he hadn't quite mastered his own demons, but he just desperately wanted to move past the struggle, the constant need to cower away. This of course didn't mean he would continue his reclusive ways... no, he'd just pretend he wasn't. [break][break]Snorting, standing up, Clark moved away from the bench, his sneakers crackling with each step. Down the street, to the left, his favourite coffee shop lay tucked behind the armada of business buildings. Maybe he could get there before the first rush...[break][break]the city streets were a mess, as always. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he couldn't not see the filth that lined the gutters, the dark and foreboding allies that opened up like black oblivions. He shuffled past quickly, paranoid, as always. Ahead, the intersection lights flashed amber, than red, a taxi nearly riding up on the side walk as it veered off towards some must see location. Just another day in the chaos that was this city. Chuckling, he started forward at the sign, shying away from the girl that headed towards him from the other side. She passed without noticing his actions, her nose buried in the folds of her coat. Ahead, he could see the cafe, a quant little spot, the front face a slate brick, the awning above jet black, marked in a blotching white text; 'Mongolias.' [break][break]Stepping inside, his nose was assaulted with the pungent, strong scent of coffee. It was an odd mix between contemporary and homey, with sleek backed furniture lined with embroiled cushions. Stepping up to the cash he smiled, a familiar face framed with auburn hair. The girl had started working there three months ago. "Morning Rachel. I'll get my usual."
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Jul 10, 2016 23:35:45 GMT
Post by Cúchulainn on Jul 10, 2016 23:35:45 GMT
[googlefont=Asar] [attr="class","carrie"]Even superheroes had to have their cup of joe in the morning, weather they were American or Irish as was Arts case, he'd decided to try and beat the morning rush by going early to the coffee shop and then to the mission. One would think that his militaristic uniform which consisted of dark blue long pants and shirt with gold buttons with a white shirt underneath, wouldn't be enough for this rather cold and frosty morning. But the good thing about being Irish, was that morning like this were common place back on the Emerald Isle.
Even the mists that rolled in from the harbour reminded him of home, maybe that's why he choose this city as his place to work. Because it offered an almost nostalgic embrace, to fond memories of homes that he knew growing up. Walking the almost desolate streets, Art wasn't wearing his mask since he was wearing a slightly different colour and his umbrella was folded up hanging from his arm. People might think it strange that he had an umbrella, though the clouds were of a slightly grey tinge and some may just think he was being prepared, and that was always a good idea.
He'd walked through the park, for no other reason then wanting to enjoy the view and as he had ample time it was just a nice distraction. Taking his time through the park, he spotted only joggers and the odd random walker and of course the animals that called the place home. With a taste of nature in his morning routine sorted, he made his way out of the other side towards the coffee shop. He'd heard about some place called Mongolias in the business district and wanted to give them a try, he'd made sure to look up the way there before taking his scenic route through the park.
Coming out of said park, Art waited for his time to cross at the right time and crossed the road without issue as he headed towards his destination. Walking into the stylish coffee house, Art mused at the nice decor. Picking a place he'd want to sit up near the back, where he, his umbrella and the sleeping GreySkull in his pocket wouldn't annoy anyone. Putting down his umbrella at said chosen spot, Art then went up to the cashier and waited to be served.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2016 3:50:26 GMT
[googlefont=Asar] [attr="class","carrie"]Sometimes, the hallucinations rose and fell like the waves upon the shore, fading into the background, barely noticeable, the softest sounds, whereas others came crashing in suddenly and desperately cold. They weren't like seeing a movie played before his eyes, or even a memory rising to his thoughts. It was always the smell first, the coppery taste in the back of his mouth, changing and shifting until it settled strong and pungent. Than... the smells. He knew the smell of smoke... ash... burning metal far to well. Than, the sounds, voices and howling winds, the snap of fire or the shriek of rubber on asphalt. Sight was always the last to come, and the first to leave. Fleeting, rarely was it images that lingered in his thoughts. It was the taste, the smell. It was why he worshipped coffee like no other. It covered it up, chased away the unpleasant sour flavour, and drowned out the smell. Leaning his hip against the counter now, he watched as the girl made his cup. She always did it the same, tilting the cup just, wiping clean the lip. The strange, almost charming patterns she drew into foam; this time, a leaf.
Amused, he dropped the change into the tip cup, even as his eyes traced over the cafe. It was quiet, as it always was when he came, the regulars yet to be drawn from their beds. They wouldn't be here for another few moments, the first always the old man that lived just down the street, in the apartment on the corner. He'd die in a years time, killed in a hit and run. Rachel... he had seen her death change three times since he had come to Mongolias. The latest, that prick of a boyfriend she had. Allowing himself to look at her, he could see the bruise peeking up just under the sleeve of her right arm. Clark could remember the questions doc had asked him in his sessions; why he didn't help these people. Why he didn't do something. But than... he found after a time, it was just to much to help everyone. Walking down the streets each day, he would get a first hand account of endless sad stories. It was an never ending cycle, and sometimes... the changes were worse than the original fate.
The chime over the door dinned than, drawing him with a startle from his depressing thoughts, brilliant azure eyes hidden behind his glasses turning to take in this new intruder. Dressed to impress, cradling an umbrella under his arm, the guy was a bonafide pretty boy. Blonde wavy hair, bright luminous emerald eyes. Watching the other approach from over the rims, he slowly turned back to the counter, setting his sights stubbornly upon the baristas hands. the lid, the cardboard sleeve, and finally into his hand. She smiled, he smiled, looking to play the part of someone who wasn't completely mental, he moved away, shifting to the back of the store. In the corner, a old, raggedy chair, a small table with solid wooden legs tucked with its back to the wall. Sliding into the upholstery, he set the cup on the table top, reaching to grab hold of the paper folded on top. Opening to a random page, sports, huh looks like the yankees one last nights game; his real intentions upon the new comer.
Perhaps it was odd of him, to be so intent on a guy who had come to a coffee shop. Plenty of people drank coffee after all... but rarely at this hour, and rarely in this shop. Like an old paranoid man, he had a schedule, and was never quite happy with having that schedule changed. Before he could put much thought into it though, his phone vibrated in his pocket, causing the slight man to jump in surprise. "Fuck," he muttered, leaning forward and pulling it from its case, gazing at the screen. Doc... with a grimace he answered the call. "What do you want?"
'Boo... so mean Clark. No wonder you have no girlfriend. Such a grouch.'
"What is it Denvers," sighing, rubbing his brow, Clark rolled his eyes. This man was far to fricking preppy to be human. It was as if he never slept at all... did he sleep? Calling him at all hours of the day, man if this was any other patient - doctor relationship it'd probably just be weird.
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Post by Cúchulainn on Jul 12, 2016 2:35:57 GMT
[googlefont=Asar] [attr="class","carrie"]So little in the line of people in this place, all he could really spot were the staff and maybe on other person. But it was early so that was to be expected and mostly why he came this early, once the man before him had gotten his order. Art stepped forward and ordered himself a simple coffee with milk and sugar, along with a croissant and a Papua if they had one.
"I know it might seem strange, but would you allow my pet chinchilla to eat with me. He's very well behaved and intelligent so he'll be no trouble" asked Art to the girl at the counter. Being that Chinchillas were considered one of the cleanest animals in their particular rodent family, he hoped she'd say yes as GreySkull was close to waking up and would want food.
Art would stand there and wait for his order, and also for the answer to his likely strange question. Once the order was finished he'd wait for the answer and head back to his spot, sitting down Art would slowly partake of his croissant with small sips of his coffee. If the girl allowed it GreySkull would climb out of Art's pocket and publicly enjoy his fruit, being clad in armour and some weapons GreySkull would look quite odd to anyone watching him.
If the girl had said no, Art would simple take pieces of the fruit and slip it into his pocket for GreySkull to eat in secret. Art wasn't one to eat while his friend wasn't able to so either way GreySkull would eat with him, they had plenty of time before the mission they had here was even remotely ready to start. So they wanted to take their time, and enjoy their breakfast.
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