charls is a job juggler (arithmetician) wrote in willowbrookrpg, @ 2013-11-26 00:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, charls goodwyn, day: october 12, player: lisa, player: liv |
Who: Charls Goodwyn + Alex Ripley + Anyone!
What: Charls is out and about in the city, running some errands. Boring stuff unless you come and spice it up.
When: Daytime of 2013 October 12
Where: Around the city but starts in a bookstore.
Rating: tbd
Status: Ongoing.
The truth of the matter was that Charls had an appointment with his ophthalmologist.
A shame, too, as the only reason why he needed it was because his eye grades were getting worse and that was actually the reason why he couldn't tell anyone, not even Giselle (really, what's the use?) why he was going out that day. He just didn't like the idea of admitting something ill on his part even if it wasn't like it was his fault. It was part of his job, this was something he had to deal with. He could consult the Syndicates' very own specialists, of course, that was part of his employment. But that would mean sharing his condition to more than one person involved, and he didn't want that. Also this ophthalmologist had been his for years already. It would be a pain to start again with a new one with a blank record just because their DNAs were more agreeable.
"You've got to relax sometimes," his doctor said with a sigh as he finished the last of the examinations and prepared to put on his contacts, again. "Do you work 24/7?"
"Sometimes," Charls admitted, rising from the cushioned stool. "It can't be helped."
She only sighed again and shook her head at him as he disappeared into a private room to wear his contacts.
"Take a break today, okay?" was the last of her advice after Charls settled the bill and surrendered his old glasses to the clinic. He was going to need a new one but at least it would look spiffier than his last. "Walk around the park or have coffee. Do something you like."
Do something he liked. Well, he had an idea.
The bookstore was practically a no-brainer for him. Charls liked to read in and out of work, he couldn't help it if his mutation made him an avid reader. He walked around the block with the calm pace of a man who had all his time to himself, hands in his coat pockets and all, but no one would have known the curious excitement which was building itself from the pit of his stomach as he stepped through the doors. Already he was making calculations in his mind of how much money to set aside for his lunch, his coffee (the man loved his coffee) and Ian's beer and cigarettes (he almost rejected his request for his poor choice of words) while still having enough for at least two new books.
The layout of the store had engraved itself in his mind and he paid the front and central shelves no mind, his feet making their own decisions as they took him somewhere to the back where all the academic text books were lined. His destination, of course, were the ones about computers, information technology, analysis, security, web standards...his job. His interests.
His hands flew from his pockets to a thick volume. So eager was he to browse that he had neglected to see his receipt from the eye shop flutter down to his feet.