For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun...
Chicago's trying to move on. So are its residents. Five in particular today are engaged in their own little rituals, trying to either deal with the aftermath of the plagues or to restore some normalcy to their lives.
Rachel Conway steps under the yellow tape that marks off the burnt remains of Twice Sold Tales. She walks up to what remains of the front door and she kneels down for a moment, setting a bouquet of white roses and lilies on the doorstep. She lingers there for a couple of minutes, head bowed in silent prayer.
Then she ducks back under the tape, and starts to walk away, her eyes a little damp, chewing her lip.
Peter Petrelli isn't far away. He's at a shelter the city set up to temporarily house people displaced by the disasters. He's flitting around, doing anything and everything he can to help: administering first aid here, carrying bags there, helping people find beds and blankets and help and loved ones.
He was lucky enough to make it. This is the least he can do to help out the others who did too.
Bruce Wayne is out running again, like he does most every day when the world's not coming to an end. He's a bit slower and stiffer than usual, due to the stitches in his left thigh, but the difference is likely imperceptible to anyone besides the man himself. He's not letting it stop him, though--he's worked through worse, and the city needs him.
Dylan Hayes is outside a coffee shop, a mostly-untouched cup of coffee cooling at his elbow as he reads a newspaper.
...pretends to read a newspaper. What he's really doing is stopping himself rushing to exactly where his ward is. Ragnar's okay; there's no need to stalk the poor cat everywhere just because his own nerves are on edge right now.
Liam Booth is taking tea in the common room of the Conrad's basement. He's contentedly watching people come and go, making polite small talk here and there, and generally being an island of calm in the midst of so much chaos and movement.
He can only hope to inspire that same calm in others.
Rachel Conway steps under the yellow tape that marks off the burnt remains of Twice Sold Tales. She walks up to what remains of the front door and she kneels down for a moment, setting a bouquet of white roses and lilies on the doorstep. She lingers there for a couple of minutes, head bowed in silent prayer.
Then she ducks back under the tape, and starts to walk away, her eyes a little damp, chewing her lip.
Peter Petrelli isn't far away. He's at a shelter the city set up to temporarily house people displaced by the disasters. He's flitting around, doing anything and everything he can to help: administering first aid here, carrying bags there, helping people find beds and blankets and help and loved ones.
He was lucky enough to make it. This is the least he can do to help out the others who did too.
Bruce Wayne is out running again, like he does most every day when the world's not coming to an end. He's a bit slower and stiffer than usual, due to the stitches in his left thigh, but the difference is likely imperceptible to anyone besides the man himself. He's not letting it stop him, though--he's worked through worse, and the city needs him.
Dylan Hayes is outside a coffee shop, a mostly-untouched cup of coffee cooling at his elbow as he reads a newspaper.
...pretends to read a newspaper. What he's really doing is stopping himself rushing to exactly where his ward is. Ragnar's okay; there's no need to stalk the poor cat everywhere just because his own nerves are on edge right now.
Liam Booth is taking tea in the common room of the Conrad's basement. He's contentedly watching people come and go, making polite small talk here and there, and generally being an island of calm in the midst of so much chaos and movement.
He can only hope to inspire that same calm in others.