Loki Laufeyson (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ex_brother217) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} rooms,@ 2014-06-30 09:51:00 |
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Who: Callum Alexander
What: Narrative
Where: Gotham City
When: Recent
Warnings/Rating: None to speak of.
The apartment wasn't much, but it sure as hell was a step up from anything Callum had had in the past five years. The walls weren't rotting out, the roof seemed solid enough, and the water was hot for his morning shower. Truth be told, there wasn't much about it to complain about. Sure, it was a little strange staring in the mirror at himself in that uniform and badge, face freshly shaved and hair slicked back, still damp from the shower. It was a better gig than the CIA was willing to offer him as a CI, and people here? They didn't know shit about the things he had done back home, and maybe that was for the better. Clean start and all that, without the baggage of the past weighing him down.
There was coffee at the precinct, a few friendly nods here and there, because even though circumstances had changed, Callum was still Callum. He still didn't talk much, didn't want the attention shining on him, and it was pretty evident he wasn't the sort to go shooting the shit at the coffee machine. So the others at the precinct left him alone for the most part when it came to those casual interactions, and none had much to say about his work ethic. He came to work when he was supposed to, stayed late if he needed, and if you asked him to get something done, Callum got it done. He did patrols, walked with the other officer he was partnered with to issue parking tickets, and at the end of the day, Callum went home and hung the blues up.
He was still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on here, though. Different worlds, all his family scattered about among a few different places, it seemed, and he still hadn't seen any of them to speak of. Stranger things had happened, he was sure, but Callum just couldn't think of a single one right then.
A hot shower later (and fuck did he like hot water, and plenty of it, enough to wash the day away and stand under for a while if he so pleased), Callum pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, shoved his feet into sneakers, and then he hit the street for a run.
He wasn't the athletic sort, not really, but running cleared his mind, and it was one of those things he could do just about anywhere. Sure, sometimes you had to be more careful than others, and Gotham City certainly fell into that category. But it got his mind off the things that were going on, the steady rhythm of his footfalls, the sound of his heart beating, his lungs working. Sweat beaded at his hairline, soon soaked the front and back of his shirt, and when he was done, panting and sore, he still didn't know what the fuck he was going to do. So he went home, got himself some dinner and he prepared to repeat it all over again.