Darius Alexander Summers (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dasummers) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} utr_logs, |
Darius was on his way back to the portkey. His steps were light and graceful, and he whistled as he walked, not caring that people noticed him and the designer clothing he was wearing, the sound of his new shoes squeaking on the sidewalks. He was full of a (somewhat justified) certainty that he would come to no harm from anyone who dared to think he was an easy target. Beside, he was young and quite possibly in like, and that made the world wonderful.
He cut through the park on his way, though it was a bit of a detour. He'd spent many happy hours that day with Ophelia there, and part of him wanted to look at it again. It seemed to him to be a cross between a Faerie realm and an elegant but haunted place, one that spoke of beauty and mystery. To say that his mind was miles away would be a vast overstatement, though. His mind was only six blocks away, wondering what she was doing, even though he'd only just left.
The sight of another soul in the park wasn't extraordinary. There were many men in the park for some reason or another. But this one was different. Darius nodded to the man politely as he approached. The coat, he decided, was what drew him. It was incredibly purple. He looked rather like a younger, knock-off Magneto. But Magneto wasn't here. "Evening. Burning the midnight oil?" Darius was glad that the only business job he'd ever had was with his parents, who expected him to be in bed in time for crack-of-dawn training sessions.