02 🌚 tell me baby, what's your story? [closed]

[pillz]

WHO: John Murphy & Joey Kavinsky
WHERE: The City
WHEN: Before rescuing Cassidy, as well as Apollo and Victor's super fun destruction circus broadcast on national television!
WHAT: A chance encounter, shortly before everything goes to Hell.
WARNINGS: References to war, trauma, etc. probably nothing on-screen?

[joey k doesn't get out much these days. generally sidelined by the chronic fatigue of his body, ever since the porter went silent, and responsibilities more easily fulfilled in dream conferences or behind screens.

but the porter's up again. maybe. and josh healed him.

he feels unwontedly bold, a little giddy, walking through the streets of the city again. there's a discreet drone or two trailing him from the samodiva, just in case, relaying his location periodically to the mothership through encrypted frequencies. it's a little paranoid, sure, but it's also just their fucking lives anymore. tomorrow, he'll be on a mission. boots on the ground, for the first time in a long fucking time.

but you know the real marvel, to him, as he peeks around corners and trods past boutique stores -- the thing you forget, when you're aboard the airship for months and months?

down here, life goes on. it's been going on.

today there's a farmer's market, and crafts being sold. a huge tented area filled with propane heaters, the warmth of milling pedestrians.

he already bought new scarves. one for himself, one for victor; the latter being a silky, choppy red thing, that looks like animate blood, looks as good knotted as loose. the fudge stall smells like a delirious fucking dream, and everything in that one there looks like it has insects perfectly preserved in crystal. right now, he's watching the cotton candy spool onto balsawood sticks, as he moves distractedly through the crowd and--]

Oof. Oh, shit.

[he reaches out to grasp the other young man's shoulder, then lets go, opening his hands apologetically.] I'm sorry. Yo, let me buy you another one, [he adds, observing there is now: some sort of chocolate beverage spattered harmlessly over his blue rubber boot.] I insist.

Comments

[mofi]

Murphy works for the government, Lieutenant to one Kylo Ren. A lot of been happening recently, a lot of whispers that have him at little on the edge of something. He isn't too sure what exactly. Paranoia? That's what it felt like.

That's why he is here, at a farmer's market, getting engulfed by the amiable atmosphere. He's purchased a knitted hat with matching gloves that became fingerless once you buttoned back the mittens. They were nice and comfy, kept his ears warm from the bite of Winter. A cup of hot cocoa in his hand, making his inside pleasantly warm, too.

Everything was going pretty okay when someone backed into him, dumping the chocolate beverage onto his glove and boots. "It's fine," he clips, tossing the nearly empty cup into a wastebasket that was coincidentally within reach.

Murphy is more irritated about his stained glove than the hot chocolate, but he doesn't want to make a scene. Eyes are already on him. Paranoia, it's a nasty little thing that hovers over your shoulders.

[pillz]

"Is it, though?" Joey watches the sad, half-crushed cup of previously there was hot choc fly off into the wastebasket. What a plight. His narrow face folds itself into a moue. 'Tis the season for things other than losing tasty treats, come on. The Christmas decorations literally just came down.

"C'mon."

Joey shuffles up beside the other young man and points with a gloved finger down the stretch of walkway, to where a greying man is stooped behind gently fogged display cases. "That stand over there sells some dope-ass baklava. Like, it's not too sweet, but definitely hits the spot. Ancestral dessert of my peoples." He stuffs his glove back into his hand and peers at Murphy.

"Have you ever had it before? They have it in like, Greek restaurants and a lot of different bakeries with regional treats, but usually an adventure ain't what people swing for when they're trying to indulge their sweet tooth." His stare is very frank, expectant, a veritable spotlight in the form of fringy dark eyes.