![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
marvel quicklog: gwen & harry
Who: Gwen Stacy & Harry Osborn
What: Reuniting with a younger!Harry
Where: Gwen's.
When: After this.
Warnings: None as of yet.
Harry gave the address to the driver, who was familiar enough with the neighborhood to make a few shortcuts along the way. Twenty minutes after his last message sent, Harry arrived at Gwen's building. He paid for the several hour long taxi trip around the city with one of the credit cards discovered to be in his possession upon waking that morning. He didn't bother checking the balances. The Centurion card didn't have any real limit, or not the kind that Harry had ever had the priviledge of blowing through in a month. Even with all of those Spring Break splurges and summer weekend trips to Ibiza. He wasn't going to hit that kind of limit unless he decided to go shopping for a yacht, and Harry was suddenly struck with the realization that he'd never even entertained the idea of owning a yacht before. Maybe now was the time. Norman Osborn, may he rest in peace, wasn't exactly the type inclined toward family vacations, and beside that, he'd never seen his father on a boat.
Harry knocked on the front door without worrying about what would happen after. He was still caught up in the prospect of luxury boats. He wondered where one even went to shop for that kind of thing. Maybe it was more reasonable to send an agent to Connecticut to shop around. He would need new clothes, Harry still hadn't gotten around to that today, and for good reason. Harry supposed that if he was a couple of years in the future, he would at least need to study the style before commiting to a new closet. All that he'd been able to dig through without losing patience were endless suits. He wore one of the button-up shirts, powder blue, tucked into dark slacks. He waited for Gwen to answer the door and considered the shine on his shoes.
There were subtle differences. He was younger, but a couple of years didn't change much. His face seemed softer, or just freshly shaved for the first time in a long time. His hair was youth-messy. The most obvious difference, which might only seem obvious now that she had something recent to compare him to, was that he actually looked healthy. A little slept-in and rumpled, pants that were an inch or two too long, hems bunching under the heels of his shoes. He wasn't starved or wane, manic or bloodshot. This Harry at least had the energy to be entertained by the little things, like the shine in his shoes that shifted from one side to the other as he clicked his heels and waited.
What: Reuniting with a younger!Harry
Where: Gwen's.
When: After this.
Warnings: None as of yet.
Harry gave the address to the driver, who was familiar enough with the neighborhood to make a few shortcuts along the way. Twenty minutes after his last message sent, Harry arrived at Gwen's building. He paid for the several hour long taxi trip around the city with one of the credit cards discovered to be in his possession upon waking that morning. He didn't bother checking the balances. The Centurion card didn't have any real limit, or not the kind that Harry had ever had the priviledge of blowing through in a month. Even with all of those Spring Break splurges and summer weekend trips to Ibiza. He wasn't going to hit that kind of limit unless he decided to go shopping for a yacht, and Harry was suddenly struck with the realization that he'd never even entertained the idea of owning a yacht before. Maybe now was the time. Norman Osborn, may he rest in peace, wasn't exactly the type inclined toward family vacations, and beside that, he'd never seen his father on a boat.
Harry knocked on the front door without worrying about what would happen after. He was still caught up in the prospect of luxury boats. He wondered where one even went to shop for that kind of thing. Maybe it was more reasonable to send an agent to Connecticut to shop around. He would need new clothes, Harry still hadn't gotten around to that today, and for good reason. Harry supposed that if he was a couple of years in the future, he would at least need to study the style before commiting to a new closet. All that he'd been able to dig through without losing patience were endless suits. He wore one of the button-up shirts, powder blue, tucked into dark slacks. He waited for Gwen to answer the door and considered the shine on his shoes.
There were subtle differences. He was younger, but a couple of years didn't change much. His face seemed softer, or just freshly shaved for the first time in a long time. His hair was youth-messy. The most obvious difference, which might only seem obvious now that she had something recent to compare him to, was that he actually looked healthy. A little slept-in and rumpled, pants that were an inch or two too long, hems bunching under the heels of his shoes. He wasn't starved or wane, manic or bloodshot. This Harry at least had the energy to be entertained by the little things, like the shine in his shoes that shifted from one side to the other as he clicked his heels and waited.