(no subject)
Duckie stands in line to order at the Bourgeois Pig, a lit-themed café in Lincoln Park, the SK Pros slung around his neck still thumping out an audible ragga jungle beat. The clerk running the register doesn't blink at Duckie's ensemble--a lightweight hoodie tight enough across the chest to show that his upper half, at least, is male, and an ankle-length black skirt over lime green high tops--but stonewalls his efforts at flirtation with cool professional courtesy. Duckie orders his The Sun Also Rises combo to go and, cramming the wax-paper-wrapped package into his Blue Demons messenger bag, he heads out to eat his late lunch in Oz Park.
Having spent the better part of the day couriering documents and playing fetch for suited office drones, Duckie relishes the opportunity to people-watch in a more heterogeneous environment. Sucking on a pomegranate Izze, Duckie stretches his legs out in the grass, crossing one rainbow-socked ankle over its mismatched counterpart. He makes up stories for those who cross his field of vision: which might be the unlikely superheroes in disguise, caped crusaders who by day trade their spandex for blue jeans and university tees. He assigns them their own sidekicks, tragic pasts, secret hideouts, and theme songs. He doesn't wonder who the villains are. He suspects it might be him.
At one point he gets a text from one of his roommates demanding who in God's good name could have possibly depleted both two-gallon jugs of milk since yesterday. Duckie snickers and declines to reply, tucking his auxiliary extremity Blackberry back into his bag; for once his conscience is clear.
Meanwhile, Nikola Tesla has dismantled the mini-fridge allotted him in his room at the Main Gauche, examining its components while he waits impatiently for his new lab assistant. Time is of the essence; there is much Science to be done! So much Science.
The television is on, but Nik ignores it until the commercial break, at which point he puts down whatever he's doing to give this astonishing contraption his undivided attention. He has surmised by now that many of the programs shown are fictional in nature, or dramatizations at best. Save for news broadcasts, courtroom dramas, and what appears to be a documentary series simply titled X-Files, Nik does not put much stock in anything this picture-box has to show him. The ads, on the other hand, are a different story--these give him a glimpse into the level of technology available for the public of today. Hardly the bright and shining future he’d envisioned, but the sheer number of options is impressive.
One man in particular appears to be the representative of a wide array of cleaning supplies. He must be very far from the receiver indeed, Nik thinks, for this man needs to shout for the signal to carry.
[ OOC : Grah, this = Product Placement Post. What c'n I say, Duckie's a consumer whore. XD ]
Having spent the better part of the day couriering documents and playing fetch for suited office drones, Duckie relishes the opportunity to people-watch in a more heterogeneous environment. Sucking on a pomegranate Izze, Duckie stretches his legs out in the grass, crossing one rainbow-socked ankle over its mismatched counterpart. He makes up stories for those who cross his field of vision: which might be the unlikely superheroes in disguise, caped crusaders who by day trade their spandex for blue jeans and university tees. He assigns them their own sidekicks, tragic pasts, secret hideouts, and theme songs. He doesn't wonder who the villains are. He suspects it might be him.
At one point he gets a text from one of his roommates demanding who in God's good name could have possibly depleted both two-gallon jugs of milk since yesterday. Duckie snickers and declines to reply, tucking his auxiliary extremity Blackberry back into his bag; for once his conscience is clear.
Meanwhile, Nikola Tesla has dismantled the mini-fridge allotted him in his room at the Main Gauche, examining its components while he waits impatiently for his new lab assistant. Time is of the essence; there is much Science to be done! So much Science.
The television is on, but Nik ignores it until the commercial break, at which point he puts down whatever he's doing to give this astonishing contraption his undivided attention. He has surmised by now that many of the programs shown are fictional in nature, or dramatizations at best. Save for news broadcasts, courtroom dramas, and what appears to be a documentary series simply titled X-Files, Nik does not put much stock in anything this picture-box has to show him. The ads, on the other hand, are a different story--these give him a glimpse into the level of technology available for the public of today. Hardly the bright and shining future he’d envisioned, but the sheer number of options is impressive.
One man in particular appears to be the representative of a wide array of cleaning supplies. He must be very far from the receiver indeed, Nik thinks, for this man needs to shout for the signal to carry.
[ OOC : Grah, this = Product Placement Post. What c'n I say, Duckie's a consumer whore. XD ]