Aidan Turner (whisperisashout) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-05-15 01:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | may 2010 |
Who: Aidan and Albert
What: Discussions outside the comic book store
When: Friday late afternoon
Rating: Low
The comic book store had become one of Aidan’s favourite haunts since his first date with Jay. He’d been browsing through the comics for hours, trying to work out what Jay had meant when he’d said ‘powers’. Powers like the ones that he had? Like the ones that Max had?
There was definitely a strange number of people with... less than ‘normal’ abilities. Of course, maybe everyone in the world was just like them. But then if that was the case, how come everyone in the movies was just... normal. Untalented. Not special in any kind of way? It was strange. Definitely hinky.
Aidan kind of liked hinky. He liked the challenge it presented him.
Not that he’d gotten far with anything. There was nothing to indicate that their abilities were anything out of the ordinary, but at the same time they weren’t mentioned anywhere, which made everyone - because Aidan was pretty sure there were more people than he knew about that had... powers - want to hide them. Jeez, as if being a teenager wasn’t hard enough.
He was outside the comic store now, in the mall, cell phone in his hand. It was held about an inch and a half away from his ear and he was talking into it.
“No. I can’t see anything,” he was talking to Jay, who had been trying to dissuade him from searching any more. “I’ve been looking because there’s gotta be more than just the comics in here. I mean, there’s a hundred years worth of creativity and all the companies came up with was Batman and things like that? No, that’s-”
He sighed, resigned and he just leaned against the wall. The cool exterior seeped through his shirt. “Yeah, I’ll call you later.”
He clicked his cell phone shut and then went back to his notepad, writing notes about the lack of super-powered comic book heroes.
“There’s something weird going on,” he said to himself, focusing on the page in front of him, the scratch of the pen, the smell of the ink. He found that if he concentrated on one thing in particular, the rest of the world faded from an overwhelming tide of sound to a dull roar. “Clearly, it’s up to this intrepid reporter to find out.”