9/21/12
WHO: Lindsey and YOU!
WHERE: Outside of the school, near the sports field of your choice.
WHEN: September 21st, after school
WHY: Talk to hiiiiiiim. Or throw things at him. Whatever works.
It was a warm Friday afternoon, and, in a habit that had his mother often likening him to a lizard, Lindsey had sprawled himself on a set of bleachers outside of the school. He was taking up more room than he probably had a right to, but the students were few and far between- a group here and there waiting for their friends to finish practicing some sport or other so they could go hang out or go shopping or whatever kids did these days.
He'd long since donned his headphones, unable to bring himself to listen to or care much about the snippets of gossip or the shouts he heard from the field. Instead, he had his classic 80's rock playlist blaring in his ears, and right now Steve Perry was informing him that the wheel in the sky keeps on turning, and he didn't know where he was going to be tomorrow.
Lindsey could relate to that, in a way.
For all he knew, he could go back up to his room tonight to find a demon under his bed, or in the closet. The last thing he wanted to do was scuffle with a demon- and then have to go to fucking Anthony for healing- right before bed.
But he knew enough about superheroes to know you didn't just awaken to an ability like this and then do nothing with it. He also knew enough about superteams to know that, as much as they probably needed each other, some egos were bound to get in the way. Most everyone seemed okay with teaming up, but there had been one girl in particular who said she didn't need help. It was probably best that Lillian had jumped in when she did, because Lindsey had been on the verge of saying something nasty. That probably wouldn't have won her over.
Or maybe it would have. Lindsey had learned from experience that sometimes all a spoiled rich kid needs is a good strong dose of reality to wake them the fuck up.
He sighed, stretching out on the bleachers, working the kinks out of his long limbs. He looked like he was sleeping, and honestly, he was getting quite close to dozing for real. Not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon.
WHERE: Outside of the school, near the sports field of your choice.
WHEN: September 21st, after school
WHY: Talk to hiiiiiiim. Or throw things at him. Whatever works.
It was a warm Friday afternoon, and, in a habit that had his mother often likening him to a lizard, Lindsey had sprawled himself on a set of bleachers outside of the school. He was taking up more room than he probably had a right to, but the students were few and far between- a group here and there waiting for their friends to finish practicing some sport or other so they could go hang out or go shopping or whatever kids did these days.
He'd long since donned his headphones, unable to bring himself to listen to or care much about the snippets of gossip or the shouts he heard from the field. Instead, he had his classic 80's rock playlist blaring in his ears, and right now Steve Perry was informing him that the wheel in the sky keeps on turning, and he didn't know where he was going to be tomorrow.
Lindsey could relate to that, in a way.
For all he knew, he could go back up to his room tonight to find a demon under his bed, or in the closet. The last thing he wanted to do was scuffle with a demon- and then have to go to fucking Anthony for healing- right before bed.
But he knew enough about superheroes to know you didn't just awaken to an ability like this and then do nothing with it. He also knew enough about superteams to know that, as much as they probably needed each other, some egos were bound to get in the way. Most everyone seemed okay with teaming up, but there had been one girl in particular who said she didn't need help. It was probably best that Lillian had jumped in when she did, because Lindsey had been on the verge of saying something nasty. That probably wouldn't have won her over.
Or maybe it would have. Lindsey had learned from experience that sometimes all a spoiled rich kid needs is a good strong dose of reality to wake them the fuck up.
He sighed, stretching out on the bleachers, working the kinks out of his long limbs. He looked like he was sleeping, and honestly, he was getting quite close to dozing for real. Not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon.