Vesper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vesper_verde) wrote2018-01-07 05:15 pm
vesper_verde) wrote2018-01-07 05:15 pm
Badly Escaped Musings.
Marcelo closed the sliding door to the penthouse and retreated across the outdoor patio to the farthest corner. He set his glass of cognac on the small, glass-topped table. He slowly sank into the seat next to the table and pulled out his cigar clipper. He took an unsteady breath just before he snipped off the end of the cigar with a quick, strong motion. His breathing steadied out as he focused more on the routine of cigar smoking than everything he had been doing since the world ended.
The chair creaked a little as he leaned back to pull out his torch lighter from his pocket. He ignored the incessant press of everything else on his shoulders. Once his lighter was out, he leaned forward on the chair to rest an elbow on his knee. He started the cigar lighter about three inches away and moved it closer to the cigar. He rotated the lighter around the foot of the cigar. As he toasted the end, he ignored the slight flits of thought about his pregnant wife, his employees, or the people at the Brazilian consulate he was helping.
He took a quick pause with the torch to blow on the foot of the cigar and make sure there was a slight ash look on the wrapper. Then he went back to getting the tobacco burned. Once it was sufficiently toasted, he put the cigar in his mouth, aimed the torch directly at the foot of the cigar, and took a few puffs to get his cigar lit.
He let a small sigh as he tossed the torch onto the table next to his drink and sat back in his chair. He picked up the fingers of cognac and took a sip. Marcelo just needed some peace, which was in short supply since New York became the last place on Earth. He hadn't been out on patrol since then. No need to since his promise to his mother and wife had been fulfilled by whatever had destroyed everything. There was no need to stop the flow of drugs from Brazil when there was no Brazil anymore.
He glanced at the phone wrapped around his wrist. It would be wallowing to unbend it and hit redial. He knew from the last seventeen times he had tried that it would not connect to his father. Nor would the phones at the consulate. Or the ones at Veridian. Everything outside of the chunk of New York that escaped annihilation was gone.
He took another puff and tried to look out at city skyline. For a few seconds, he could pretend that he didn't have a wife highly afraid she got pregnant at the very wrong time. He didn't have to figure out the reconfiguration needed at Veridian so he could keep his promise of the place to work where they can earn whatever a living means anymore. He didn't have to figure out what he was anymore. For just a few seconds.
A small, purple flash across the sky and reality had to set back in for him. He heard police sirens fire up a couple blocks away. He twitched a little and took a sip of his drink. He lost track if he was going to sleep alone tonight. So, he busied his mind trying to figure out his wife's sleep schedule so he could figure out if the 4 AM nightmare would be there that night.
He sometimes wondered if Atlas had been made of balsa wood like him.
The chair creaked a little as he leaned back to pull out his torch lighter from his pocket. He ignored the incessant press of everything else on his shoulders. Once his lighter was out, he leaned forward on the chair to rest an elbow on his knee. He started the cigar lighter about three inches away and moved it closer to the cigar. He rotated the lighter around the foot of the cigar. As he toasted the end, he ignored the slight flits of thought about his pregnant wife, his employees, or the people at the Brazilian consulate he was helping.
He took a quick pause with the torch to blow on the foot of the cigar and make sure there was a slight ash look on the wrapper. Then he went back to getting the tobacco burned. Once it was sufficiently toasted, he put the cigar in his mouth, aimed the torch directly at the foot of the cigar, and took a few puffs to get his cigar lit.
He let a small sigh as he tossed the torch onto the table next to his drink and sat back in his chair. He picked up the fingers of cognac and took a sip. Marcelo just needed some peace, which was in short supply since New York became the last place on Earth. He hadn't been out on patrol since then. No need to since his promise to his mother and wife had been fulfilled by whatever had destroyed everything. There was no need to stop the flow of drugs from Brazil when there was no Brazil anymore.
He glanced at the phone wrapped around his wrist. It would be wallowing to unbend it and hit redial. He knew from the last seventeen times he had tried that it would not connect to his father. Nor would the phones at the consulate. Or the ones at Veridian. Everything outside of the chunk of New York that escaped annihilation was gone.
He took another puff and tried to look out at city skyline. For a few seconds, he could pretend that he didn't have a wife highly afraid she got pregnant at the very wrong time. He didn't have to figure out the reconfiguration needed at Veridian so he could keep his promise of the place to work where they can earn whatever a living means anymore. He didn't have to figure out what he was anymore. For just a few seconds.
A small, purple flash across the sky and reality had to set back in for him. He heard police sirens fire up a couple blocks away. He twitched a little and took a sip of his drink. He lost track if he was going to sleep alone tonight. So, he busied his mind trying to figure out his wife's sleep schedule so he could figure out if the 4 AM nightmare would be there that night.
He sometimes wondered if Atlas had been made of balsa wood like him.