stinglikeabee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stinglikeabee) wrote2008-03-01 04:11 pm
stinglikeabee) wrote2008-03-01 04:11 pm
Entry tags:
Warning: 619 words!
And because I can, I'm also posting the latest part of the unnamed ficlet.
Last night's reminder was tucked in his breast pocket. Simon resisted the urge to pull out and examine the business card in broad daylight. Protocol stated any suspicious material received should be sent off to an in-house investigator and dusted for prints, processed into the system, and eventually filed away. That meant paperwork vetted by Simon's superiors. And these days it was getting more difficult to play along.
He stopped at the light and glanced at his wristwatch. Around him the school of office workers obediently watched the traffic signal for their cue. The men were dressed in the similar uniform of a dark suit, a plain tie, and a briefcase in one hand. Simon assumed the same bland gaze the commuters had, remembering his mentor's mantra to 'blend in'. The hat made it easier, hiding the red hair that would stand out in any occassion. There was a minute moment where he allowed himself doubt at whether his clothes and manner were nondescript enough, but that passed when the movement of the crowd shoved him towards the subway entrance. He kept his head down, and fed the turnstile.
Down the stairs, left at the information counter, and there was nothing left to do but wait for the 8:15 train to Scoville. He leaned against a pillar and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. A quick scan at the waiting mass pulled up nothing noteworthy, and he returned to the thoughts of writing. Technically, he ought to be more worried about the strangeness of the night before but there was always time for that. But his usually reliable sixth sense wasn't pinging him incessantly on the issue, and he felt it safe to ignore. For now anyway.
He imagined coming back to the empty apartment and sitting at the desk with a cup of coffee again. In his mind's eye he saw his hands placed on the home keys, waiting for some bolt of inspiration to strike. There ought to be something that he could capitalise on, something to visualise on the laptop screen, but there was nothing. It was... disappointing. He grunted. Maybe he wasn't creative enough to think up ideas using this technique. What had they used at English class? Brainstorming, doodling ideas on paper? He wondered if he could get away with it later in the afternoon.
The train car doors opened with a groan, and Simon allowed himself to be swept away into the compartment. He grabbed the first plastic strap he saw and clutched the briefcase closer. After a moment's worth of observing his fellow passengers, he lapsed back into the reverie. Maybe he could stop by the bookstore and pick up a book or two on writing. Something to help him get going, or to help break the writer's block.
His eyes caught a flash of something. It was sudden enough to warrant a more than slight sideways glance over the tops of his fellow commuters. When he looked up though all he saw was the usual hunched over, avoid eye contact position assumed by nearly everyone. It always felt rather stupid to expect an obvious sign someone was watching him. What did he want, a man with a goatee and eyepatch giving him the evil eye?
People were exiting. Simon peered through the smoky window at the station sign. Satisfied, he tried to fall back into staring into space. But the uneasiness of the earlier break did not leave. Could he risk shoving pass the other passengers to enter the next car? There were still enough bodies to make his leave quite noticeable. He glanced at his watch. No time. He'd just have to slip out as quietly as possible.
He stopped at the light and glanced at his wristwatch. Around him the school of office workers obediently watched the traffic signal for their cue. The men were dressed in the similar uniform of a dark suit, a plain tie, and a briefcase in one hand. Simon assumed the same bland gaze the commuters had, remembering his mentor's mantra to 'blend in'. The hat made it easier, hiding the red hair that would stand out in any occassion. There was a minute moment where he allowed himself doubt at whether his clothes and manner were nondescript enough, but that passed when the movement of the crowd shoved him towards the subway entrance. He kept his head down, and fed the turnstile.
Down the stairs, left at the information counter, and there was nothing left to do but wait for the 8:15 train to Scoville. He leaned against a pillar and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. A quick scan at the waiting mass pulled up nothing noteworthy, and he returned to the thoughts of writing. Technically, he ought to be more worried about the strangeness of the night before but there was always time for that. But his usually reliable sixth sense wasn't pinging him incessantly on the issue, and he felt it safe to ignore. For now anyway.
He imagined coming back to the empty apartment and sitting at the desk with a cup of coffee again. In his mind's eye he saw his hands placed on the home keys, waiting for some bolt of inspiration to strike. There ought to be something that he could capitalise on, something to visualise on the laptop screen, but there was nothing. It was... disappointing. He grunted. Maybe he wasn't creative enough to think up ideas using this technique. What had they used at English class? Brainstorming, doodling ideas on paper? He wondered if he could get away with it later in the afternoon.
The train car doors opened with a groan, and Simon allowed himself to be swept away into the compartment. He grabbed the first plastic strap he saw and clutched the briefcase closer. After a moment's worth of observing his fellow passengers, he lapsed back into the reverie. Maybe he could stop by the bookstore and pick up a book or two on writing. Something to help him get going, or to help break the writer's block.
His eyes caught a flash of something. It was sudden enough to warrant a more than slight sideways glance over the tops of his fellow commuters. When he looked up though all he saw was the usual hunched over, avoid eye contact position assumed by nearly everyone. It always felt rather stupid to expect an obvious sign someone was watching him. What did he want, a man with a goatee and eyepatch giving him the evil eye?
People were exiting. Simon peered through the smoky window at the station sign. Satisfied, he tried to fall back into staring into space. But the uneasiness of the earlier break did not leave. Could he risk shoving pass the other passengers to enter the next car? There were still enough bodies to make his leave quite noticeable. He glanced at his watch. No time. He'd just have to slip out as quietly as possible.