merry adventures in backdate land
Characters: Enjolras and Steeeeeve
Location: Staff room
Time: gosh who knows. Backdated to when Steve first arrived at the Institute I guess.
Content: The ‘marble lover of liberty’ meets the Marvel lover of liberty. lol wordplay
Format: MIME. Or third.
Warning: Too many blonde-haired, blue-eyed, freedom-lovin' men in one place for any mere mortal to handle. Consider yourself warned.
Coverage of the upcoming presidential election was absolutely inescapable, and no place more-so than in the newspapers. Enjolras, unconsciously hogging all three of the day’s broadsheets, had spread the papers out over the main table in the staff room. He pored over them, ignoring absolutely everything else in the room, and was fully absorbed in going over the tiny columns. Enjolras leant over the table with a pen deftly highlighting the odd line or comment in between having to repeatedly brush his hair out of his eyes with impatient distraction.
The pen hovered over one article in particular: a stirring letter-to-the-editor piece concerning mutant-related hospital care written by a name that Enjolras proudly recognised. Setting the pen down on the table he set to carefully folding and tearing out the column with agonising care so as not to rip it, frowning automatically as he concentrated.
Location: Staff room
Time: gosh who knows. Backdated to when Steve first arrived at the Institute I guess.
Content: The ‘marble lover of liberty’ meets the Marvel lover of liberty. lol wordplay
Format: MIME. Or third.
Warning: Too many blonde-haired, blue-eyed, freedom-lovin' men in one place for any mere mortal to handle. Consider yourself warned.
Coverage of the upcoming presidential election was absolutely inescapable, and no place more-so than in the newspapers. Enjolras, unconsciously hogging all three of the day’s broadsheets, had spread the papers out over the main table in the staff room. He pored over them, ignoring absolutely everything else in the room, and was fully absorbed in going over the tiny columns. Enjolras leant over the table with a pen deftly highlighting the odd line or comment in between having to repeatedly brush his hair out of his eyes with impatient distraction.
The pen hovered over one article in particular: a stirring letter-to-the-editor piece concerning mutant-related hospital care written by a name that Enjolras proudly recognised. Setting the pen down on the table he set to carefully folding and tearing out the column with agonising care so as not to rip it, frowning automatically as he concentrated.