Felicia Hardy (blackcatburglar) wrote in gravitationlogs, @ 2013-06-30 17:23:00 |
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With about a half dozen copies each of the Times, the Bugle, and the Globe all sprawled out on the table she'd commandeered several hours ago, a smart phone she seemed to consult or use to scan info at random intervals, and an energy drink she'd sneak out of her bag to sip on occasionally when there weren't any reference librarians milling about, Felicia looked every bit the part of any other college student locked in the feverish rush to cram before finals-- albeit a student who was a little out of place studying at a public library rather than the relative privacy and comfort of her university's campus one (and a student who was perhaps just a bit blonder and more stylishly dressed than the usual imagining of the stereotypical student cramming for finals). But ,all the same, the illusion was complete enough to keep most of the other library patrons and employees who passed by from taking a closer look at the subject of her research. In the nearly four hours she'd poring over the most recent issues of the City's papers, nobody had gotten nosy enough to wonder what in the world kind of academic subject required students to study the art, society, and gossip pages of the past week's news. The truth was that Felicia wasn't studying for her finals, of course. Sure, she had a few exams left to sit but all of her final papers had been turned in and those exams that were still left had been delayed again on account of all the destructive trouble at the Grand Central Station re-opening hoopla. Lately, Felicia found that among the many perks of getting an education here, in what she considered to be the undisputed greatest city in the world, was the increasing frequency with which her classes offered extensions and counseling over all the latest city-wide tragedies: aliens, storms, terrorists, whatever. Sure, it sucked all kinds of awful when something dangerous like that happened and she had a hard time getting a hold of her mother for a while but afterwards, when she knew Mom was okay and school administrators announced yet another week of amnesty on assignment due dates, Felicia wasn't going to pretend like that wasn't a total relief-- far more so than anything the psychology grad students camped out in the health services offices to dispense counseling could say or do, as far as she was concerned. And anyway, if living in the City during all of these attacks had taught Felicia anything it was to get her shit done early without procrastinating-- there was no guarantee some fresh new hell wouldn't fall out of the sky and prevent her from accomplishing the task later. And it was in the spirit of that life lesson that Felicia was camped out in the Mid-Manhattan Public Library now, a week after her ultimately failed attempt at burglarizing the local Stark Industries offices, hunting for a new target: something a little easier this time around security-wise (in retrospect, yes, trying to rob an Avenger's girlfriend had not been one of her better ideas for all that the potential haul might've been), though ideally a valuable piece from the private collection of an equally internationally controversial billionaire. But four hours later, the search still hadn't produced the golden ticket moment she'd been hoping for (obviously-- or else she wouldn't have still been camped out at the same table) and her expression was growing more scowly with every passing half hour. |