no_voice: (Golden Boy)
[personal profile] no_voice
School has started and Jason isn't in school.

It's an odd feeling; a mixture of relief and bittersweet sadness. He would like to be in school; even though Darrow only has a limited option of schools to choose from, the fact that he could attend another school besides Notre Dame proves exciting enough. Peter, he knows, is in college. The prospect of running into him in classes and hallways makes Jason ache even as much as the image warms him.

For the time being, he's content to focus on work, he supposes. He might take some preliminary courses at the community college before applying for Barton's spring semester, though. He can't decide if he has the courage to go through with it or not; it's a big deal for him, no matter what he decides.

Tonight, Jason is looking for a chance to simply relax outside of work. He doesn't have homework to worry about, which is another plus side to being out of school, he supposes.

So he winds up at a local pub, nursing a beer at the bar as he watches the kaoroke night unfold. He's seen some interesting performances so far, many downright terrible, but he's entertained. Secretly, he wishes Peter were here to egg him on into attempting a song himself. As it is, he's too sober and too reserved to make an attempt himself.

So Jason sits back, watches, and drinks.

(no subject)

Sep. 11th, 2017 08:12 pm
somethingwild: (Entering New York)
[personal profile] somethingwild
Newt generally isn't much for shopping for clothes. He only buys what he needs, the bare minimum to make it through a week, at most. He's typically more concerned for his creatures, Melanie, and books for himself when he does venture out to the shops. Clothing for himself is hardly at the top of any list he might happen to make.

He's ruined a pair of trousers, however. He'd been chasing after the Niffler through the various habitats, slipping and sliding through muck and other, less savory heaps. He'd tripped over a tree root and torn the trousers clean down the seam on his right leg.

Given that he only really owns about four other pairs of trousers, he figures he might as well replace the ones he's ruined. And he might as well stock up a bit, in case other emergencies happen somewhere down the line. In his line of work, it is always better to be prepared.

After a long and tedious few hours, Newt finally finishes his shopping errands during the early evening. As a reward, he decides to stop in a pub for a pint. Even Muggle alcohol is appealing to him, after being on his feet and guessing at various measurements for so long.

The place he stops is quiet, quaint; the wood is worn and faded, and a fire crackles in the back. He could almost be back home, in his own time period, if not for the televisions in the corners of the room. Newt smiles, shakes his head, and makes his way toward the bar. His places his shopping bags and suitcase both by his feet, beneath the bar, as he takes a seat. He orders a pint of Guinness and taps his fingers against the wood of the bar itself.

He turns to the gentleman sitting next to him, tired enough not to care about his usual aversion to starting conversations with strangers.

"Nice night, isn't it?"
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