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capeandcowllogs2013-09-08 02:21 pm
viced) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-09-08 02:21 pm
I know that you're tired of this
WHO: MITCHELL HUNDRED and YOU
WHERE: Around the City
WHEN: 9/08 to 9/12
WARNINGS: Will edit if necessary
SUMMARY: It's just one of those weeks
FORMAT: tagger's choice!
[ A ]
City Hall was where he spent the great majority of his time. Most people called him a workaholic, sure, and it was true enough. The trouble was that he had too much to do, and not enough time to do it in. It wasn't poor time-management, not really, but poor delegation that often left the Mayor constantly working. He didn't like leaving it to other people, if he could help it. He hated leaving work to someone else. He drew a good paycheck, and was voted into office, he should be able to do everything within his power to make sure he paid back a vote with work. And Christ, did he work.
Long hours meant he was often there from before the sun rose to after the sun set -- well after. He liked it, because the longer he was here, the less he dwelt on other things. Like if keeping himself focused on everything he needed to do would keep him from thinking about anything else. He didn't like dwelling. He wanted to work, and keep working. Sentiment and following trains of thought would lead to ruin, if he let them. He was out just as much as he was in, events, speeches, things that he had to do. He could honestly be found at any of them, but City Hall was always the most consistent, even if you generally needed some kind of appointment to get through security, but that was easily arranged, if needed.
Or he was even storming the halls. As was often the case. If anything, he seemed like he was on more of a mission than lately, demanding more of his employees, but maybe there was a good reason for that, or maybe the time here was getting to him, and he wanted to do more. They hadn't done enough, and he was feeling the press of time pushing in.
[ B ]
But with long hours came a necessity. That necessity was caffeine. The mayor tried to send other people out for his coffee, or to just drink a pot or two of the stuff that was left in the breakrooms. There was a lot of coffee that went missing from the breakrooms, but he also went out often enough for the precious black sludge, needing an almost constant intake of coffee for him to stay on the level that he needed to be at.
Which meant there was also quite a bit of standing in line, for him. Or even stopping to talk with people who felt the need to tell him exactly what they thought, in public. It wasn't enough that he had a weekly radio address, or tried to make his administration as open as possible, but nobody wanted to wait in line. Nobody wanted to wait for a chance to talk to him, not when he was right there and available for them to talk to now. So he would listen to their complaints in line, or after getting his coffee, or even when he was trying to walk out, trying to play it off while still getting in the direction that he needed to go. It wasn't perfect, but hey, he had to do something didn't he? No need to pull Bradbury in to call them off, although every now and again, it did happen.
[ C ]
Closer to Wednesday, he found himself slipping closer to alcohol, as a way to cope. It wasn't that he didn't know how to, or that he thought he needed it, but this time of the year was always harder for him. Memories seemed sharper, his dreams seemed more violent, and he remembered the sounds and smells, being right there, that other people didn't remember. He tried not to drink in excess, with his family history, it wouldn't go well. He never wanted to go down that path, and he couldn't afford to lose that kind of control.
But slipping out from the watchful eye of security was easier said than done. It was easier just to let them trail him, and so he did, making it obvious that he went out for a drink. It wasn't often, it was rare, but when it got closer, he found himself picking up the glass more often. It helped, in a small way. Made it so he didn't have to dwell so much on the problem. He didn't want to drink it away, no. That was the path of ruin, he knew, but maybe just to make it so he didn't think on things a while. His other coping mechanism would let him slow down, but it left him with this thoughts. He didn't need that. He'd had his fill of going without his powers. Normally he reveled in the opportunity to hear himself think, but time without his powers, especially now, felt more sickening, and concerning than anything else.
So he sat in silence, in a ball cap and sunglasses, in a dark corner of the bar, holding onto his drink like it was a lifeline. He wasn't conspicuous, but he was obviously the type of person who was trying to hide who he was, too. Anonymity was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford in over ten years, but you worked with what you had.
[ D ]
[ Misc! Tagger's choice goes here if you have something else you'd like to do! ]
WHERE: Around the City
WHEN: 9/08 to 9/12
WARNINGS: Will edit if necessary
SUMMARY: It's just one of those weeks
FORMAT: tagger's choice!
[ A ]
City Hall was where he spent the great majority of his time. Most people called him a workaholic, sure, and it was true enough. The trouble was that he had too much to do, and not enough time to do it in. It wasn't poor time-management, not really, but poor delegation that often left the Mayor constantly working. He didn't like leaving it to other people, if he could help it. He hated leaving work to someone else. He drew a good paycheck, and was voted into office, he should be able to do everything within his power to make sure he paid back a vote with work. And Christ, did he work.
Long hours meant he was often there from before the sun rose to after the sun set -- well after. He liked it, because the longer he was here, the less he dwelt on other things. Like if keeping himself focused on everything he needed to do would keep him from thinking about anything else. He didn't like dwelling. He wanted to work, and keep working. Sentiment and following trains of thought would lead to ruin, if he let them. He was out just as much as he was in, events, speeches, things that he had to do. He could honestly be found at any of them, but City Hall was always the most consistent, even if you generally needed some kind of appointment to get through security, but that was easily arranged, if needed.
Or he was even storming the halls. As was often the case. If anything, he seemed like he was on more of a mission than lately, demanding more of his employees, but maybe there was a good reason for that, or maybe the time here was getting to him, and he wanted to do more. They hadn't done enough, and he was feeling the press of time pushing in.
[ B ]
But with long hours came a necessity. That necessity was caffeine. The mayor tried to send other people out for his coffee, or to just drink a pot or two of the stuff that was left in the breakrooms. There was a lot of coffee that went missing from the breakrooms, but he also went out often enough for the precious black sludge, needing an almost constant intake of coffee for him to stay on the level that he needed to be at.
Which meant there was also quite a bit of standing in line, for him. Or even stopping to talk with people who felt the need to tell him exactly what they thought, in public. It wasn't enough that he had a weekly radio address, or tried to make his administration as open as possible, but nobody wanted to wait in line. Nobody wanted to wait for a chance to talk to him, not when he was right there and available for them to talk to now. So he would listen to their complaints in line, or after getting his coffee, or even when he was trying to walk out, trying to play it off while still getting in the direction that he needed to go. It wasn't perfect, but hey, he had to do something didn't he? No need to pull Bradbury in to call them off, although every now and again, it did happen.
[ C ]
Closer to Wednesday, he found himself slipping closer to alcohol, as a way to cope. It wasn't that he didn't know how to, or that he thought he needed it, but this time of the year was always harder for him. Memories seemed sharper, his dreams seemed more violent, and he remembered the sounds and smells, being right there, that other people didn't remember. He tried not to drink in excess, with his family history, it wouldn't go well. He never wanted to go down that path, and he couldn't afford to lose that kind of control.
But slipping out from the watchful eye of security was easier said than done. It was easier just to let them trail him, and so he did, making it obvious that he went out for a drink. It wasn't often, it was rare, but when it got closer, he found himself picking up the glass more often. It helped, in a small way. Made it so he didn't have to dwell so much on the problem. He didn't want to drink it away, no. That was the path of ruin, he knew, but maybe just to make it so he didn't think on things a while. His other coping mechanism would let him slow down, but it left him with this thoughts. He didn't need that. He'd had his fill of going without his powers. Normally he reveled in the opportunity to hear himself think, but time without his powers, especially now, felt more sickening, and concerning than anything else.
So he sat in silence, in a ball cap and sunglasses, in a dark corner of the bar, holding onto his drink like it was a lifeline. He wasn't conspicuous, but he was obviously the type of person who was trying to hide who he was, too. Anonymity was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford in over ten years, but you worked with what you had.
[ D ]
[ Misc! Tagger's choice goes here if you have something else you'd like to do! ]
(b)
And he doesn't.
He just finds himself, swaying and blinking; trying to steady himself on his feet in a Starbucks line at roughly 3a.m. eastern standard time. He finds himself digging for his worn old wallet in the back of his jeans and finding nothing, be it due to his sieve of a memory or the mental blinkers that he puts on to slog through the day. He could have left it at home, and it might be innocently waiting for him on his dresser -- or someone may have taken it from its customary place at his left hip without him being any the wiser. Either way, he has no way to pay the barista in front of him.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm going to have to- Can I just ask you to hold that, I can be back in... Ten minutes, I'll be back, I'll have the cash with me..."
no subject
Hence the need for coffee. His body was used to little sleep, but this? This was practically abuse, and he knew it. He just didn't care enough to worry. He'd always pushed his body just a bit harder than he probably should have.
"Hey, don't worry about it, pal," he spoke up, waving a hand at the barista to hand it over. They, of course, were much more familiar with who the mayor was, let it slide. They knew he was good for his money. "I'll catch you this time. By the time you get your cash and get back, your fucking drink will be way too cold to drink."
Honestly, with as much as he drank, it was more likely that he'd lost any sense of heat, since he tended to drink his straight out of the cup and fresh from the pot. He waved a hand, and the girl wrote his usual on the cup. They knew what he liked, since he frequented the place often enough.
no subject
He grabs the cardboard cup when it's presented, trying to stifle the urge to just bolt. "If you want to give me your address, I could mail you the cash--" Oh, god. Oh god, he isn't sure whether he sounds more like a sloppy pickup artist or a sloppy serial killer. And he has enough experience with one of those demographics to know that the pre-hangover hour in midtown was not a time or place he wants to start raising red flags.
Will pushes his glasses up, sighing as he aborts the sentence fullstop. "Or don't do that. That's probably a terrible idea. We can just rely on chance, and maybe at some other ungodly hour, I can pay you back." In a city of eight million people. Sure.
no subject
It was nice, actually. Being caught a little anonymous. It was like being back in the past, before he ran for office, when he was just a nobody civil engineer, or worse; a nobody superhero. He just chuckled, a little awkwardly -- his address? Really?
"No, that's alright. It's like six bucks, it's not like I just spent a fortune on your fucking coffee," he explained, even while the girl handed him his usual, giving him a smile, and thanking him. Complete with his title. Which meant being a nobody was a luxury he wasn't going to get to continue.
no subject
"Well, that answers that. I suppose it would have been poorly advised to try and slip an envelope full of bills through the mail slot at Gracie Mansion." He shakes his head, finally taking a sip of the coffee in question.
no subject
"I mean, you could try, but I think the security staff would have to do something, but they might just laugh you off the lawn, so at least you'd escape with your skin. Besides, it's a cup of coffee, it's not like I just bought you a new phone or some shit."
Yeah. That sure was the mayor.