Who: John Hart and Gwen Cooper When: Late morning Where: The Complex What: Moving on up? Rating: TBA
So he finally caved after a couple of nights sleeping in public parks. It was inevitable. John was too damn old for that, hating waking up with a sore back and the homeless leering at him. With the address given to him by some 'helpful' soul and advice he'd been given numerous times, the Captain found himself standing before the tenement known as the Complex with his sword over one shoulder and one thumb hooked into his waistband, swaggering his way right in through the front doors after a brief chat with a couple of the ones on security. They'd sent him on where he'd been given some ridiculous type of care package and set of keys, then from there the man was more or less left to his own devices. There was a number on the keychain and he held it up at eye level to read it, then made his way up the stairs. He didn't much trust elevators, never knew who'd corner you in one.
Today it was to his advantage, as coming out into the 200s landed him just down the hall from one Gwen Cooper, who he couldn't have forgotten if he'd wanted to after nearly blowing up handcuffed to her. John hefted up his things from 'check-in' downstairs, way too reminded of refuge camps he'd squatted at a time or two, and made his way down the hallway. She was struggling with her keys, probably mixed up, and it bought him time enough to reach the woman and given an appreciative whistle when she dropped the ring, cursed, and bent over to pick the keys up again.
"Shame they didn't bunk me across the way, that's a view I could get used to," John teased and stepped back to make room for a passing tenant only to find leaning against the wall there wasn't half bad. Even if it did leave him awfully stationary behind a woman that'd already threatened to fill him full of holes before even seeing him again.