Re: Log: Sleepy Brielle/Professor Charles/Captain Steve
[This New York was a world away from Steve's own—not the present-day in Marvel, which, he supposed was his now, but that didn't really feel like home; but rather the man's true beginnings—from the dregs of immigrant-tiered tenements swept aside now to the snapping bulbs and the shaking glass beads of a Jazz Age city with money to burn. But, he'd been here before, hadn't he? He knew the rankness of manure, the acrid stench of burnt rubber. He could hear the familiar metallic clatter of streetcars, the harmony, raucous at night, of men shouting, the click of heels Ma liked to look at, but could never afford.
It was surreal to be here again. Only now he wasn't four, covered in dirt and clinging to his ma's skirts as she helped a man sat on the walkway, his speech still slurred from a busy night beforehand (and drinking was illegal!). No, now he was a man grown, in appropriate clothing, suspenders over linen button-up, his jacket too tight. Underneath it all Steve wore his suit, but, well, it seemed imperative to him that they not make too much of a scene.
He pulled at the collar, peering down at Charles as the man spoke.] It's not far. Should I go and bring her back to you here? [His eyes fell further down to the shining anachronism of the other man's wheelchair.]