Wren Zhang / Noir (infusco) wrote in xmen_genesis, @ 2010-02-18 10:40:00 |
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CHARACTERS: Noir & Angel.
DATE/TIME: Sunday, January 9th, 2011 / 2:30 PM.
LOCATION: Lower Manhattan; Greenwich Village.
TOPIC: Shopping and.... daddy issues? xD
STATUS: Incomplete.
RATING: PG, probably.
TAGGED?: Yes.
LOCKED?: Yes.
Wren had been standing outside Abe's Antiques for the past ten minutes, holding two lattes from a nearby coffee shop in each hand (one for herself and one for Warren). She was bundled up in a scarf and her favorite coat to shield against the blistery weather currently plaguing the East Coast, but even that didn't seem enough to keep the cold from penetrating her bones. And the fact that she'd gotten her hair cut earlier probably didn't help ward against it either. In retrospect, she should've at least considered wearing hat, but alas, she did not. But at least she'd be enjoying a hot beverage (to warm her up from the inside, out) whenever her good friend Angel decided to grace her with his presence.
She'd been looking forward to this meeting for a few days now. Though, in all honesty, it just felt good to be out of that school for a while, especially after spending most of the week 'trapped' there.
They'd all gone through another period of adjustment at the mansion. Every single person that resided there had been implanted with fake memories of the X-Men's children, who had all been transformed into young adults. (Thanks, Scarlet Witch.) When it had all first started, Wren couldn't even fathom getting used to the idea that her baby girl was almost-full-grown woman. But strangely enough, after a few days, things almost felt, well, normal, for lack of a better term. Even though things seemed to be on the up-and-up, the umbrakine couldn't help the periodic bursts of panic she felt. In a few short years, Prue would be of legal age, which meant she could move out and go to college (if that was what she wanted to do, of course). Wren was ill-prepared to send her child into the world. She had no savings, because she figured she had had plenty of time to save up (seventeen and a half years, actually) before that day would come. To say that she didn't feel overwhelmed would be a blatant lie.
As she continued to wait out front of the antique shop, she felt something vibrate in her pocket; it was her cellphone. It was probably (yet another) text from her daughter, who had been awful cross about not being invited to join her in the city today. But it'd have to wait, until at least one of her hands were free to text back.