Bart Allen>> Impulse (imp_ulsive) wrote in atticcity_rpg, @ 2010-03-02 19:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | bart allen/impulse, virgil hawkins/static |
Who: Bart and Virgil!
What: Who knows? I don’t. But I’ll tell you when I do.
When: Sometime at night.
Where: The hotel they’re staying at.
Rating: TBA
Bart’s first reaction to everything was to be suspicious. It was a big city, this place they were stuck in, and there weren’t enough people to fill in the empty spaces and there were too many cars that didn’t belong to anybody and sidewalks that were too clean and too new. The people that he did see, they were always doing something, driving a taxi or cleaning a floor, making coffee, offering food to kittens in cages. There was a pet store, a pharmacy, a shopping mall that echoed its silence. Everything that he saw (or didn’t see) would have been eerie if it hadn’t been for the shining lights and the spotless roads where nobody yelled or struggled or blared their horns in annoyance.
He’d left during the early hours of the morning to explore while Virgil was still asleep. Even though he didn’t and would not admit it out loud, he really wanted to see something terrible. Horrible things were easier to explain than this… whatever it was. Bart had kept his eyes open for somebody trying to snatch a purse or break a window. He tried to find someone screaming at somebody else and he’d looked and looked and there had been nothing to satisfy him. There was no struggle. A bad side of town didn’t exist and trying to find a way out only led him in circles that went around and around forever. At ten am Bart was tired of trying to find things that obviously weren’t there. Turning around, he’d gone back in the direction that he came from, to walk through the hotel until Virgil joined him.
It was eight thirty now. The sun had dimmed and the city was lit up and glinting non-threateningly at him through the windows. Somewhere on the first floor, there was a woman in a suit sitting behind a desk in the lobby, who always smiled pleasantly when he walked passed her. Her polite personality should have creeped him out. She was bordering the line that separated nice from really really really extremely nice and yet, Bart found that he couldn’t feel threatened by her. She was that good at being likable, as if she were made to be likable.
Again (for the fiftieth time that night) he moved the curtains aside to peer outside and down at the ground. “I wonder if the mall gets closed.” He was talking more to himself than he was to anybody else. The lights distracted him. They were inviting. It felt like somebody wanted them to venture outside and do what they wanted to do and Bart didn’t understand that. He couldn't.