Subway, Havok
Subway System - Beneath Manhattan - Midtown Platform
Standing on the platform, Alex Masters is just another face within a sea of people waiting on the next northbound train. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks tired, weathered, it's been a long night, and he doesn't appear to like where he is going.
Despite the usual crowds of the subway, it still beats the packed sidewalks of New York's early morning meanders. The little, squat, sickish looking man is done up in a grimy long sleeved jacket, his trusty New York Knicks hat shoved up over green locks of hair that press flat against his oily forehead. He moves quietly, occasionally lifting a wallet from a pocket or a loosely slung purse. Each tidbit, whether money or as simple as house keys, are slipped into the many pockets of his cargo pants. Toad finally pats the latest little theft, a jump drive out of a computer case, and shuffles off to the side of the platform, away from the crowds.
Hiking boots, jeans, and a spotted, slightly wet red t-shirt covers Alex's athletic frame. He holds a leather backpack on his left shoulder. That pack seems to be the weight of his world right now, or a representation of what ever is upon his back that causes him to carry himself so low. Eyes narrow with a slight frown as he's bumped into from his left. Some 17 year old punk kid was dancing about with his friends, and inadvertently collided.
Above, the flourscent lighting washes the room in a bluish tint, giving a flicker every 60 milliseconds. The hum that it gives off is only drowned out by the noise of the croud and various trains that come and go from the 4 adjacent tracks.
Alex's leather backpack is slightly open and inviting, there may be something of significant value in there. Another train rolls in, not his, so he waits more, being bumped by the crowds as they pass him standing.
Toad's hands wiggle at his pockets. Two wallets, a set of keys, a laser pointer, and a jumpdrive are his spoils. He does not exactly need them, but the sport is intriguing, as is the chase. Toad scans the crowd, deciding if he should test his luck. Acting very much a concerned, humble citizen, Toad takes the two steps sideways without a single look to Alex's backpack. "Yer know wot that last train woz?" The small, yellowish man inquires to Alex in a rough British tone.
Not registering the question, Alex hears it as if he's in some tunnel. It takes him a second and then he turns his gaze to the smaller statured man. "Pardon?" he asks in return. Perhaps it's the accent, or that he was off in his own world.
"The train," Toad repeats, pointing a finger towards the tracks. "Wot's that last train that came by, mate?"
Alex looks around for a sign like you would find in an airport, there are none. "Sorry, no idea. I'm waiting for the F. It may have been the B." Alex returns his attention to the guy. Noting the 'oil' of his skin/hair. Not frowning or showing reaction to it, just noticing. He pulls something from his pocket, a narrow sheet of glossy paper that has the train schedule and line drawings that cross town. "This may help." and he offers the sheet.
Toad bobs his head, eyes focusing in on the papers. "Oi, brilliant," the short man hums happily, leaning forward to pinch the sheet between his fingers. The other hand makes to pat the other on his back. "Thanks," he says and releases the stiff pat, hand making a skillful slip into the backpack, fingers fishing carefully.
Toad will feel the following within the large pocket of the backpack: Jeans, Tshirt, underwear, socks, a few loose DVD's, a small mac ibook, keys that jingle, a rock hammer, sheathed knife, and a few loose rocks.
Alex doesn't notice the 'pilfering' of his pack, his attention turns back to the approaching train, reading the letter on it, he mumbles, "B, that's my ride." and will shift forward toward the red line.
"So it is, aye." Toad sounds a little distracted, perhaps momentarily puzzled at the contents. The slick surface of the ibook is gripped with sticky fingers, a quick pull upsetting the keys like a trip wire. Toad backs up, catching his breath and hoping that the man thinks nothing of it. The ibook is tucked behind his back as quick as his reflexes recover.
Alex notices nothing (yet), he's already back in his world of reticentance. The train arrives, people get off, he and a few others shuffle onto the train. That's when he notices the 'lightness' of his pack. He slips it off his shoulder and reaches into it, suddenly realizing that the ibook isn't there. The doors close. His eyes immediately peer through the window out at the crowd, looking for the smaller man.
Toad is there. Of course, since this is a rare nugget of opportunity to bask in the thrill of his trade. The ibook is held up for Alex to see, a wide, yellow-toothed grin on his green face as his other hand wiggles it's fingers peevishly.
There's a sudden rage that comes over the face of Alex. Inside the train he can be heard yelling, "YOU LITTLE SHIT!" and he goes for the closed doors. The train begins to depart, the crowd is too thick, he cannot force the doors open, he struggles, his eyes peer through the doors watching the Toad as the train departs. He points and mouths something to the effect of, "I'll find you."
The contents on the hard drive are as follows: Journal (seen on havok's live journal) that lists the last 10 years of his life. Detailing his mutant powers, his resistance to using them, his life as a geologist, travels about the world. Further, there's information about his job at Emerson University, lesson plans, teaching agendas. Geological information, and in the web information, links to various geological web sites, etc.
Toad barks out into laughter, the people around him uninformed or uncaring to the situation. His prize is tucked under his arm and he turns, slipping quickly away from the crowds and subway in case Alex makes his way back any time soon.
Toad is back in town.
Standing on the platform, Alex Masters is just another face within a sea of people waiting on the next northbound train. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks tired, weathered, it's been a long night, and he doesn't appear to like where he is going.
Despite the usual crowds of the subway, it still beats the packed sidewalks of New York's early morning meanders. The little, squat, sickish looking man is done up in a grimy long sleeved jacket, his trusty New York Knicks hat shoved up over green locks of hair that press flat against his oily forehead. He moves quietly, occasionally lifting a wallet from a pocket or a loosely slung purse. Each tidbit, whether money or as simple as house keys, are slipped into the many pockets of his cargo pants. Toad finally pats the latest little theft, a jump drive out of a computer case, and shuffles off to the side of the platform, away from the crowds.
Hiking boots, jeans, and a spotted, slightly wet red t-shirt covers Alex's athletic frame. He holds a leather backpack on his left shoulder. That pack seems to be the weight of his world right now, or a representation of what ever is upon his back that causes him to carry himself so low. Eyes narrow with a slight frown as he's bumped into from his left. Some 17 year old punk kid was dancing about with his friends, and inadvertently collided.
Above, the flourscent lighting washes the room in a bluish tint, giving a flicker every 60 milliseconds. The hum that it gives off is only drowned out by the noise of the croud and various trains that come and go from the 4 adjacent tracks.
Alex's leather backpack is slightly open and inviting, there may be something of significant value in there. Another train rolls in, not his, so he waits more, being bumped by the crowds as they pass him standing.
Toad's hands wiggle at his pockets. Two wallets, a set of keys, a laser pointer, and a jumpdrive are his spoils. He does not exactly need them, but the sport is intriguing, as is the chase. Toad scans the crowd, deciding if he should test his luck. Acting very much a concerned, humble citizen, Toad takes the two steps sideways without a single look to Alex's backpack. "Yer know wot that last train woz?" The small, yellowish man inquires to Alex in a rough British tone.
Not registering the question, Alex hears it as if he's in some tunnel. It takes him a second and then he turns his gaze to the smaller statured man. "Pardon?" he asks in return. Perhaps it's the accent, or that he was off in his own world.
"The train," Toad repeats, pointing a finger towards the tracks. "Wot's that last train that came by, mate?"
Alex looks around for a sign like you would find in an airport, there are none. "Sorry, no idea. I'm waiting for the F. It may have been the B." Alex returns his attention to the guy. Noting the 'oil' of his skin/hair. Not frowning or showing reaction to it, just noticing. He pulls something from his pocket, a narrow sheet of glossy paper that has the train schedule and line drawings that cross town. "This may help." and he offers the sheet.
Toad bobs his head, eyes focusing in on the papers. "Oi, brilliant," the short man hums happily, leaning forward to pinch the sheet between his fingers. The other hand makes to pat the other on his back. "Thanks," he says and releases the stiff pat, hand making a skillful slip into the backpack, fingers fishing carefully.
Toad will feel the following within the large pocket of the backpack: Jeans, Tshirt, underwear, socks, a few loose DVD's, a small mac ibook, keys that jingle, a rock hammer, sheathed knife, and a few loose rocks.
Alex doesn't notice the 'pilfering' of his pack, his attention turns back to the approaching train, reading the letter on it, he mumbles, "B, that's my ride." and will shift forward toward the red line.
"So it is, aye." Toad sounds a little distracted, perhaps momentarily puzzled at the contents. The slick surface of the ibook is gripped with sticky fingers, a quick pull upsetting the keys like a trip wire. Toad backs up, catching his breath and hoping that the man thinks nothing of it. The ibook is tucked behind his back as quick as his reflexes recover.
Alex notices nothing (yet), he's already back in his world of reticentance. The train arrives, people get off, he and a few others shuffle onto the train. That's when he notices the 'lightness' of his pack. He slips it off his shoulder and reaches into it, suddenly realizing that the ibook isn't there. The doors close. His eyes immediately peer through the window out at the crowd, looking for the smaller man.
Toad is there. Of course, since this is a rare nugget of opportunity to bask in the thrill of his trade. The ibook is held up for Alex to see, a wide, yellow-toothed grin on his green face as his other hand wiggles it's fingers peevishly.
There's a sudden rage that comes over the face of Alex. Inside the train he can be heard yelling, "YOU LITTLE SHIT!" and he goes for the closed doors. The train begins to depart, the crowd is too thick, he cannot force the doors open, he struggles, his eyes peer through the doors watching the Toad as the train departs. He points and mouths something to the effect of, "I'll find you."
The contents on the hard drive are as follows: Journal (seen on havok's live journal) that lists the last 10 years of his life. Detailing his mutant powers, his resistance to using them, his life as a geologist, travels about the world. Further, there's information about his job at Emerson University, lesson plans, teaching agendas. Geological information, and in the web information, links to various geological web sites, etc.
Toad barks out into laughter, the people around him uninformed or uncaring to the situation. His prize is tucked under his arm and he turns, slipping quickly away from the crowds and subway in case Alex makes his way back any time soon.
Toad is back in town.