Post by * Barret Drystan on Jan 31, 2010 2:17:49 GMT -5
Who the hell designed these damn things?
The thought rolled over and over again in the lycan's head as he stared, half blank half confused, at the mess of lines, dots, stars and symbols this whack job of a city called a subway map. How anyone could understand it was anybody's guess. But, then again, he couldn't help but notice how he was the only one standing in the middle of the small station. All of the other patrons busily hustled by him, some shoving, others respectfully giving him space. Like it wasn't hard enough to read the map without someone knocking into you every 20 seconds.
As though on cue, a burly map shoved the out of place brunette hard enough to throw him off balance. The werewolf stumbled, ending up on his knees while the perpetrator in question simply rumbled on by, laughing like the villain from a children's movie while making cracks about tourists and southern retards before disappearing around the corner. A few others nearby felt the need to support his cause with a laugh or two, snickering and pointing at the individual on the ground.
Though he seemed to tense a little bit, the lycan merely sighed and hoisted himself back onto his feet, pausing on his knees to pick up his blue and white truckers cap from where it had landed on the floor. He was about to slip it back onto his head when another group of people laughed and made jokes about screwing cousin's and, in a moment of clarity, he clipped it to one of the belt loops of his overalls instead. Once back on his feet, he took a moment to brush off the khaki fabric that covered his legs, checking his various pockets to make sure his belongings were all in place. He found his change missing from one pocket and, though his hazel gaze wandered about in search for it, when he found a pitiful homeless man scooping the coins from the ground, pausing when the lycan looked at him, he merely smiled and waved the man on.
"It's cool man. Ya'll can have it."
It pleased him to see the grungey old man light up at the prospect of mere pocket change and, with his spirits effectively lifted, the out of place southerner returned to his place in front of the subway map, a smile on his face and his hat swinging from his hip. He took a moment to adjust the gray and black backpack that hung from his shoulders, shifting its position and adjusting the straps clumsily before, finally, reluctantly, turning his gold-and-green gaze back unto the plastic display hanging from the tile wall.
Now if only he could figure out how to get to that damn museum...
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Post Status: Complete
Word Count: 457
Muse Status: Non-existent
Summary: Drystan stands in the lobby of an underground subway station, staring at a subway map. He is dressed very stereotypically: a baggy pair of khaki overalls over a cool gray t-shirt and a black long sleeved shirt, a blue and white trucker's hat on his head of messy hair. He is obviously not a native new yorker, and some natives feel the need to make fun of him for it. He is pushed by a passing man who (along with some other people) laugh at him, but he sighs and gets to his feet, deciding it'd be best if he didn't wear his hat today (hoping it would lessen his "red neck" look). He notices that his change has fallen out of his pocket in the fall, but, when he sees a homeless man going for it, he happily waves the bum on, allowing him to take the change. Pleased that he made the homeless man happy, Drystan returns to his task of figuring out the subway map... Though, as an idiot, this will likely never happen without some assistance.
Comments: This post is TERRIBLE ><
