|i_amalegacy (i_amalegacy) wrote in we_coexist,|
@ 2009-01-25 18:27:00
|Entry tags:||spock, teddy altman|
Incoming: one big, green teenager. (OPEN)
"Speed, honestly, if you'd look at where you were aiming instead of--"
Hulkling rounded the corner, fully expecting his teammates to be on his heels and Central Park to be clearly visible to the north. Instead, he'd come out on an empty square. He turned, looking for the others, only to find that no one was lined up in the alley behind him. "Patriot? Wiccan?"
No one. Hulkling frowned and rubbed at a rapidly-healing gash on his arm - some debris from one of Speed's explosions had slashed him across the bicep. Where was he? "Hello?" He called. No one answered; he could see some people in a deli across the street, but there were no pedestrians out and about. It was dark - dark enough to be nearing midnight - and the 'Open' sign blinking cheerfully in the deli window seemed the best bet. Hulkling took a breath and started out into the square. He'd find out where he was, and he'd regroup and go in search of the rest of his team.
Fast-forward about a week, past the shock, denial, and anger. Though he didn't buy the assertion that he had nothing to worry about in the City (and, therefore, had refused to revert from his Hulkling shape to his normal face, no matter how many odd looks he'd gotten), he'd accepted that a) he was not in New York and b) he had no way of contacting his friends. Eventually, he'd agreed to settle into a room in a Youth Center that catered to new teen arrivals without parents or guardians. They were nice enough, and the rules weren't especially restrictive ('clean up after yourself,' 'don't fight,' and 'quiet time after 9:30' seemed to be the only hard-and-fast regulations), so he figured he could tough it out for a little while.
He still had an eye on getting home, though. He missed Billy.
Which is why he'd taken to walking the City. He was hoping that he'd see something - a clue, some kind of hint at what he was supposed to be doing. No one had tried to kill him (yet), so it was seeming less and less like a plot and more and more like... well, he didn't know, but something else. Occasionally he peeked in stores and, when the clerks seemed especially flustered by his appearance, he bought something. This had been one of those times; the convenience store cashier had been a tiny lady, barely over five feet, and she'd seemed a little extra freaked out.
Hulkling had bought a soda.
He was drinking it outside of the store, shoulders against the brick wall and his eyes on the street.