Mimic (the_mimic) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2012-07-25 17:51:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | z: om1: !complete, z: om1: location: district x, z: om1: location: new york, z: om1: past character: calvin rankin, z: om1: past character: mary walker |
The Night out
Characters: Calvin and Mary Walker
Setting: District X, New York City
Content: God, I don't know.
Summary: Calvin went for a stroll around town. Let's see what happens?
"See what happens?" Growled Calvin again as he gave another solid kick. The prone figure of a small teen boy held his chest tightly and curled up into a ball from the pain. He'd found the kid just a moment ago trying to take his damn wallet! So, Cal did the only sensible thing. He beat the crap out of the youngster. The boy was down on ground now and bruised up real good. "You don't get to take my stuff. I don't care if you are a mutant." The nerve of this little punk! Thinking he could use his shitty mutant powers, eh? The brat had tried to use some kind of long lizard tongue to snap at him when Calvin got wise. Well, this would teach the little bastard. Calvin demanded respect. He was still the Mimic, even if he was an X-Man again. That used to mean something around here. He gave the dirty little thief a few more kicks for good measure and then turned to leave.
This supposed to be a getaway trip for him. A bit of fresh air to see how the world was making it. Hopefully the whole night wasn't going to turn into a complete fiasco. How was Calvin to know that District X couldn't even police their own anymore? Friggin kids these days. That's what the problem was. Cal made his way over to over to a nearby dive bar in the town and walked in looking for a drink. He knew the owner from way back when. His name was Dave The Moose.. Anyway, it didn't matter. All you need to know about Dave was that the sucker was another mutant with another animal power. Inside things looked the same as usual despite the recovery efforts in the city. Folks hung around sipping their drinks and complaining about everything and anything. That's the problem with most American mutants. So quick to complain, but so slow to actually act.
Cal stepped up to the bar and ordered a shot of whisky. That should pick his spirits back up. Frank immediately recognized him, but the old bastard didn't saying anything. Cal couldn't blame him. Who wants to fraternize with an old terrorist any how?