How did we get here? How the hell - PAN LEFT. ( ACTIVE / CLOSED )
Characters: Mark Cohen, Maureen Johnson
Content: Mark and Maureen meet face-to-face. There is catching up. Also, there are crabs, and biting. Ouch.
Location: Alphabet City, near Avenue B
Time of day: Evening
Warnings: Crab-Violence, and a wee bit of gore? Also, cursing, most likely.
♫ Song Used: Halloween ♫
Mark was at it again. Every day seemed like the same old thing; Camera #2 strapped with duct tape to the handlebars of his bike, riding around the crumbling remains of Manhattan island. He'd been out with a force, ever since the squabble with the monsters in the river (all of which he'd caught on film, of course, even if half the footage was shit, until he got close enough). Of course since then, things had quiet down a bit. The weather was getting a little warmer, a sure sign that they were in the middle of February and winter was dieing a slow and painful death.
In all his wandering, Mark had avoided Central Park. Not because of anything he'd heard about it being the Stomping/Nesting grounds of the Big Bad (he hadn't heard a word) but because even this many months later, it still held unbearable memories. It made him sick to think that their bodies were probably still buried somewhere not far from there. No funeral, no kind words cover by black umbrella's. They deserved better, and he couldn't give t to them.
Survival. It was all that mattered these days. Just run the camera 'til the tape ran out, or the battery died. Buildings, and shadows, and crabs, day after day. Dizzy, distracted.
For the first time in 30-some years, Mark honest-to-God wanted out of New York.
Maureen was back in town, now. Not the Maureen he thought he remembered, the Maureen who packed up her things and moved to LA with her on-again-off-again lawyer girlfriend, but a Maureen of nearly two decades ago, freshly off a break-up with the same lawyer-girlfriend, and he'd invited her to come live with him.
"That's going to be awkward..." he mumbled to himself, on his way back to the building on Avenue B. Didn't see the latest break in the pavement, and soon the bike was pitching, and he was sprawling, and damnit, he wasn't as young as he used to be. Scrapes and bruises aplenty were in his future.
"Ah, shit," he hissed, recollecting his wits, and shuffling to his feet again. Torn jeans, and grit in his knees. Great.
His perfect day was about to get even better, because as he righted the bike, and checked the camera irritably for damage, he didn't notice the small cluster of the Parasites that were gathering and scuttling up behind him. He mounted the bike, started peddling...
Content: Mark and Maureen meet face-to-face. There is catching up. Also, there are crabs, and biting. Ouch.
Location: Alphabet City, near Avenue B
Time of day: Evening
Warnings: Crab-Violence, and a wee bit of gore? Also, cursing, most likely.
♫ Song Used: Halloween ♫
Mark was at it again. Every day seemed like the same old thing; Camera #2 strapped with duct tape to the handlebars of his bike, riding around the crumbling remains of Manhattan island. He'd been out with a force, ever since the squabble with the monsters in the river (all of which he'd caught on film, of course, even if half the footage was shit, until he got close enough). Of course since then, things had quiet down a bit. The weather was getting a little warmer, a sure sign that they were in the middle of February and winter was dieing a slow and painful death.
In all his wandering, Mark had avoided Central Park. Not because of anything he'd heard about it being the Stomping/Nesting grounds of the Big Bad (he hadn't heard a word) but because even this many months later, it still held unbearable memories. It made him sick to think that their bodies were probably still buried somewhere not far from there. No funeral, no kind words cover by black umbrella's. They deserved better, and he couldn't give t to them.
Survival. It was all that mattered these days. Just run the camera 'til the tape ran out, or the battery died. Buildings, and shadows, and crabs, day after day. Dizzy, distracted.
For the first time in 30-some years, Mark honest-to-God wanted out of New York.
Maureen was back in town, now. Not the Maureen he thought he remembered, the Maureen who packed up her things and moved to LA with her on-again-off-again lawyer girlfriend, but a Maureen of nearly two decades ago, freshly off a break-up with the same lawyer-girlfriend, and he'd invited her to come live with him.
"That's going to be awkward..." he mumbled to himself, on his way back to the building on Avenue B. Didn't see the latest break in the pavement, and soon the bike was pitching, and he was sprawling, and damnit, he wasn't as young as he used to be. Scrapes and bruises aplenty were in his future.
"Ah, shit," he hissed, recollecting his wits, and shuffling to his feet again. Torn jeans, and grit in his knees. Great.
His perfect day was about to get even better, because as he righted the bike, and checked the camera irritably for damage, he didn't notice the small cluster of the Parasites that were gathering and scuttling up behind him. He mounted the bike, started peddling...