(Untitled)

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm is at the bar with a French press of coffee and a stack of newspapers in front of him. After talking with Kate Bishop about superheroes and registration acts, he's trying to figure out what exactly is going on in her world. When he asked Bar for help, she gave him that stack of papers with the doubtful name of Daily BugleNot exactly

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[sizzuhs]

There's a man a few seats down from where Malcolm is at, staring down at a dirty piece of blue cloth, a bowl of chicken soup with a spoon in his right and all but forgotten. A pained expression is across the medic's face that's to skinny. Coughing doesn't even seem to break his gaze on the piece of material.

All his gear is about him on the floor that he came in with and as something shifts Gene seems to tense and glance about expecting something that doesn't come. That's when he catches a glimpse of he man nearby. Dark eyes watch Malcolm carefully to see if he's noticed the jump or not before he forces himself to eat.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm simply nods at the man, "Evening."

If he noticed anything unusual, Malcolm isn't making a production out of it.

But he's not exactly letting it go by either.

[sizzuhs]

If the man knew anything about a person being shellshocked Gene would be a classic case. With a simple nod the medic shoves the blue cloth back into a pocket as he coughs. "Evenin'," he replies in a Cajun accent.

Carefully Gene sort of slumped into his chair trying not to make himself unnoticable, withdrawn in a sense. "Bar? Could I gets 'nother cup 'f water?" Without even noticing it his foot moves in a nervous fashion causing his boot heel to click-click-click against the wooden floor.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm's making a silent list of the symptoms he's seeing. They're not adding up to a happy sum.

"Excuse me. Sorry, but, I don't think we've met. I'm Malcolm Crowe."

The apparent weight loss, the man's demeanor, and that boot-heel staccato...