Post by Sherridan Kaine on Apr 25, 2007 4:06:49 GMT
He walks softly, his black shoes barely making the slightest of creeks upon the fluffy carpet of the store. His face is cleanly shaved, and his hands are covered by black leather gloves. The rest would be expected to be just your standard run-of-the-mill black suit that has a powerful name on its tag and costs more than the average American earns within a year's worth of a well-paid job. However, instead of the expected mobile treasure, he is dressed in simple jeans and a turtleneck, both black, and covered by a black trench coat, leather, naturally. In fact, the only things that are not the color favored in funerals and unwanted marriages, are his hair and eyes, the first a rich golden blond tied in a pony tail, and the second two ice-blue slits, the only thing identifying him as a feline- the tail is safely tucked away. This kind of eyes is unusual enough to attract attention, but common enough to be called a "rare genetic drift", and not a full-blown mutation.
His gloved hand gently trails across the covers of the books as he makes slow progress through the rows, a smile on his face revealing that, in fact, this is pleasure, and far from the usual business of what has now turned into a source of migraines but is really supposed to be terrorism. Finally, after approximately fifteen minutes, he pulls out a book, a theme of science, something that would be used strictly for last-resort, five-minutes-before-the-deadline research for a college student who would first try, in his or her all-powerful knowledge, the Internet.
Sherridan walks slowly to the line at the cafe, and once it is his turn orders and, soon enough, receives his cup of tea. He sits in a rather comfortable armchair, right next to a small table, and then another armchair right next to it, and then another, and so on in a small, cozy circle. He sends the slightest of smiles to a small child who sits opposite him, and the girl responds with a warm smile of her own, and then giggles lightly, submersing her freckled nose back into the comic book. He opens his own book to the first side and commences reading, flipping the pages rather quickly, slightly surprised at his own reading speed.
"The time when I read my last book is amazingly distant..." he comments to himself, loud enough for anyone with keen ears to hear, but silent enough not to disturb the private universe of anyone else in the circle.
His gloved hand gently trails across the covers of the books as he makes slow progress through the rows, a smile on his face revealing that, in fact, this is pleasure, and far from the usual business of what has now turned into a source of migraines but is really supposed to be terrorism. Finally, after approximately fifteen minutes, he pulls out a book, a theme of science, something that would be used strictly for last-resort, five-minutes-before-the-deadline research for a college student who would first try, in his or her all-powerful knowledge, the Internet.
Sherridan walks slowly to the line at the cafe, and once it is his turn orders and, soon enough, receives his cup of tea. He sits in a rather comfortable armchair, right next to a small table, and then another armchair right next to it, and then another, and so on in a small, cozy circle. He sends the slightest of smiles to a small child who sits opposite him, and the girl responds with a warm smile of her own, and then giggles lightly, submersing her freckled nose back into the comic book. He opens his own book to the first side and commences reading, flipping the pages rather quickly, slightly surprised at his own reading speed.
"The time when I read my last book is amazingly distant..." he comments to himself, loud enough for anyone with keen ears to hear, but silent enough not to disturb the private universe of anyone else in the circle.
