Connor Morgan (![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gamblersmonk) wrote in ![[community profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
birdwithoutasong2014-08-27 08:42 pm
gamblersmonk) wrote in birdwithoutasong2014-08-27 08:42 pm
Entry tags:
It’s so long that I await
Who: Connor Morgan (gamblersmonk) and Open
Universe: Modern Earth, transplant, not au
What: A coffee shop
New Albion is a cold and bitter place that's taken everything that Connor's loved, over and over again, but he wouldn't have chosen to leave. It has what's left of his daughter, and all the people who remember the man his son had grown into. It's not much, it's less than he wanted, but it's all he's ever had. It'll be enough, for a little while longer. Enough to see this done.
It's because he has so many thoughts to consume him that Connor doesn't notice for a long moment that he's not in a familiar place. None of the stores in the Shopogopolis look like this, and the bustle of the crowd is too much, people jostling too close and Connor's not used to that. "Your order?" says the person behind the counter, in front of the register, and Connor's growing alarmed because none of this is at all right. He shakes his head, only to hear a repeat of the question.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, moving out of the way as best as he can understand what the way here is.
gamblersmonk) and OpenUniverse: Modern Earth, transplant, not au
What: A coffee shop
New Albion is a cold and bitter place that's taken everything that Connor's loved, over and over again, but he wouldn't have chosen to leave. It has what's left of his daughter, and all the people who remember the man his son had grown into. It's not much, it's less than he wanted, but it's all he's ever had. It'll be enough, for a little while longer. Enough to see this done.
It's because he has so many thoughts to consume him that Connor doesn't notice for a long moment that he's not in a familiar place. None of the stores in the Shopogopolis look like this, and the bustle of the crowd is too much, people jostling too close and Connor's not used to that. "Your order?" says the person behind the counter, in front of the register, and Connor's growing alarmed because none of this is at all right. He shakes his head, only to hear a repeat of the question.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, moving out of the way as best as he can understand what the way here is.