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trouble man don't get in my way.
Jan. 8th, 2015 07:59 pmIt had seemed strange to Steve when he didn't see Sam at the New Year's Eve party, but in the chaos that ensued, his attention and efforts all going toward making sure people got safely down the mountain, it managed to slip his mind. He didn't sleep much that night, on edge just thinking about everyone who was trapped at Kagura, hoping they would all be alright. He left for his run earlier than usual, and that was when he remembered Sam's absence. Steve tried to make excuses for it. Maybe, without any warning of what had happened the previous year, Sam had elected to go down to City Hall and watch the burning effigy instead. Maybe his distrust of Kagura was enough to keep him away. Maybe Steve was just assuming the worst, without any real basis for worry.
He ended up jogging over to Sam's apartment. It was still obnoxiously early by the time he got there. Sam would have complained Steve's ear off over being woken up so early, had he been there. But he was gone. Steve knew it when no one answered the door, even after he nearly knocked it off of its hinges. He forced the knob until it broke and went inside, just to confirm what he already knew. He collected whatever Sam had left behind that seemed of value or importance. Then he left.
Hours later, he is at the boxing gym. His shift is over, and it's been a very long New Years Day, but he doesn't want to go home just yet. He wants to keep working at the punching bag, so that is what he does. Usually, he holds back, not wanting to inflict any real damage on gym property. Today, he gives it his all, and then some. He tires himself out, or at least tries to. He goes at it until he can't anymore, takes a short break, and picks it back up again. He doesn't know how long it's been when she swims into his line of sight. Losing track of time, and of everything else, really, was kind of the idea. But when he sees Natasha, he pulls back, breathing hard as he steps away from the bag.
"How long've you been there?"
He ended up jogging over to Sam's apartment. It was still obnoxiously early by the time he got there. Sam would have complained Steve's ear off over being woken up so early, had he been there. But he was gone. Steve knew it when no one answered the door, even after he nearly knocked it off of its hinges. He forced the knob until it broke and went inside, just to confirm what he already knew. He collected whatever Sam had left behind that seemed of value or importance. Then he left.
Hours later, he is at the boxing gym. His shift is over, and it's been a very long New Years Day, but he doesn't want to go home just yet. He wants to keep working at the punching bag, so that is what he does. Usually, he holds back, not wanting to inflict any real damage on gym property. Today, he gives it his all, and then some. He tires himself out, or at least tries to. He goes at it until he can't anymore, takes a short break, and picks it back up again. He doesn't know how long it's been when she swims into his line of sight. Losing track of time, and of everything else, really, was kind of the idea. But when he sees Natasha, he pulls back, breathing hard as he steps away from the bag.
"How long've you been there?"
Much like Thanksgiving, Christmas was not a day that Steve particularly looked forward to back in D.C., with so little living family to call his own. There was Peggy, but the holidays were when her family visited, and he didn't want to intrude. Which is not to say that he spent Christmas completely alone -- he always found something to do with himself. For the most part, he volunteered. This year, he knows, is not the first that he has celebrated with friends since he was found in the ice. But it feels that way, the recent memory of those two years back home so strong and fresh in his mind. It makes him appreciate this year's holiday that much more.
He and Lucy have been out since morning, visiting friends and family all over the city. The novelty of going places as a couple has yet to wear off for him, and he is beginning to suspect that it never will. He's very much alright with that. He has, however, been especially anxious to return to Ocean View. Her gift, he tells Lucy, is waiting back at his place.
He had hoped to at least make it through the door before the surprise was ruined, but that was wishful thinking. He barely has the key through the lock when the barking begins. He turns back to Lucy, trying not to grin, trying to look innocent even though the jig is up. "There's someone I want you to meet," Steve says, and he pushes the door open.
He and Lucy have been out since morning, visiting friends and family all over the city. The novelty of going places as a couple has yet to wear off for him, and he is beginning to suspect that it never will. He's very much alright with that. He has, however, been especially anxious to return to Ocean View. Her gift, he tells Lucy, is waiting back at his place.
He had hoped to at least make it through the door before the surprise was ruined, but that was wishful thinking. He barely has the key through the lock when the barking begins. He turns back to Lucy, trying not to grin, trying to look innocent even though the jig is up. "There's someone I want you to meet," Steve says, and he pushes the door open.
sweet dreams till sunbeams find you.
Oct. 26th, 2014 08:48 pmFor as long as he can remember, Steve has never been one for sleeping in. And even if he had been, before, joining the army would have rid him of the habit rather swiftly. Lately, however, the temptation to stay in bed is getting greater. It has nothing to do with getting more sleep, and everything to do with Lucy. It seems a shame, anyway, to spend so much of his time with her unconscious. And although he should be getting up, getting dressed, and getting on with his morning routine, he finds it impossible to make himself move, like the signals from his brain are being intercepted by a more powerful desire.
Five more minutes, he tells himself, as he lie on his side, unable to stop staring. They are close enough that he can feel the warmth of her breath on his face. She looks so serene, he's almost afraid that if he did get up now, he'd only disturb her sleep. And he can think of worse ways to spend a morning than confined to his bed with his utterly breathtaking girlfriend. So those five minutes pass, and still he stays.
Five more minutes, he tells himself, as he lie on his side, unable to stop staring. They are close enough that he can feel the warmth of her breath on his face. She looks so serene, he's almost afraid that if he did get up now, he'd only disturb her sleep. And he can think of worse ways to spend a morning than confined to his bed with his utterly breathtaking girlfriend. So those five minutes pass, and still he stays.
For about ten minutes after Steve first rises, everything is normal. He gets out of bed, gets dressed, and heads out for his morning run. When he hits the streets, the realization that all is not well sinks in quickly enough. Even at dawn, the streets of Darrow are never so quiet. It reminds him of when he first arrived in the city, when it was still deserted. And as soon as he makes that connection, it's like he already knows. He spends the next hour hoping that he's wrong. He visits the boardwalk, which even at this early hour would attract a few joggers, but there is no one in sight. No traffic in the streets. The lights are on at the 24-hour gym, but there is no one at the front desk to stop him from going inside without a membership, and the rest of the building is empty as well. He checks one establishment after another, cutting between alleys where trucks would be making their morning deliveries, eventually grows desperate and begins to knock down the doors of private homes. Then he runs, fast as he can, back to Ocean View.
He nearly breaks her door down, but Lucy answers. He stays long enough to reassure himself that she is real, that he hasn't lost her, and to explain as best he can what is happening. Then he has to pull himself away; there are other people to check on. On the way back to his apartment, he starts calling friends. He doesn't care who he wakes up, there are voices that he needs to hear. Finally, he sends a group message — Bruce, Natasha, Sam, and Tony all get a wake-up call to action. He sits on his couch and waits for them to arrive, and hopes that this meeting will go better than the last.
He nearly breaks her door down, but Lucy answers. He stays long enough to reassure himself that she is real, that he hasn't lost her, and to explain as best he can what is happening. Then he has to pull himself away; there are other people to check on. On the way back to his apartment, he starts calling friends. He doesn't care who he wakes up, there are voices that he needs to hear. Finally, he sends a group message — Bruce, Natasha, Sam, and Tony all get a wake-up call to action. He sits on his couch and waits for them to arrive, and hopes that this meeting will go better than the last.
draw it, scratch it, say it.
Jun. 23rd, 2014 06:50 amHe doesn't get a lot of time to himself anymore. That doesn't bother Steve at all, not when he's had so much to be happy about. But sometimes, he doesn't know how he manages it, dividing his time between the pursuit for Bucky, his investigations into HYDRA, his efforts to bring together the Avengers, his job, his friends, and Lucy. He thinks back on the days when his life here was more or less quiet, often dull. It used to be that he had to work at keeping busy. That's not the case anymore. He prefers the life that he has now. It may be hectic, but it's also full. Still, when the opportunity for a small stretch of quiet presents itself, he seizes it.
Sunday, early afternoon, following a long jog and a shower, he heads out to the boardwalk alone. He brings with him his now neglected sketchbook. He isn't taking summer art classes, but he thinks he might return in the fall, and he doesn't want to be completely rusty. First, he walks, taking in all that there is to see, waiting for inspiration to strike. But instead of inspiration, what grabs him is the sight of young man sitting alone on a bench, hunched over an open book, scribbling away. At first, Steve thinks that he might be writing, but as he nears, he begins to make out the larger shapes of a drawing.
"It looks like we had the same idea," he says as he comes to stand at the end of the bench. He taps the cover of his sketchbooks. "Mind if I sit?"
Sunday, early afternoon, following a long jog and a shower, he heads out to the boardwalk alone. He brings with him his now neglected sketchbook. He isn't taking summer art classes, but he thinks he might return in the fall, and he doesn't want to be completely rusty. First, he walks, taking in all that there is to see, waiting for inspiration to strike. But instead of inspiration, what grabs him is the sight of young man sitting alone on a bench, hunched over an open book, scribbling away. At first, Steve thinks that he might be writing, but as he nears, he begins to make out the larger shapes of a drawing.
"It looks like we had the same idea," he says as he comes to stand at the end of the bench. He taps the cover of his sketchbooks. "Mind if I sit?"
a promise.
Jun. 23rd, 2014 06:09 amThe Avengers Initiative was founded on the idea that a group of extraordinary people could unite to combat the foes that no individual could face alone. There was a need for them, when they first came together that day in New York. And there is a need for them now, here in Darrow. Perhaps not immediately, not today, but eventually that time will come. The events that took place here a couple of weeks ago impressed that need upon Steve.
He doesn't know what will happen next. But he's lived in Darrow for long enough to know that there will be something. There always is. The best that they can do is be prepared. And for that to happen, they need to get organized. He doesn't call them together right away, however. He figures they could all use time to themselves. He needs it, certainly, to get his bearings back after losing his abilities. He imagines that Banner will need time to readjust as well. And although neither would ever admit to it, he suspects that Stark and Romanoff could use the extra time to settle in.
After enough time has passed, he reaches out. AVENGERS ASSEMBLE, reads the text message, because he couldn't resist. Below the call to action are instructions to meet at his place.
Eventually, there are three Avengers trying to make themselves comfortable in his living room. He jumps right in, no point in keeping them waiting. "I called you all here today because it's become clear to me that there is a need here in Darrow for the Avengers. By now we've all seen for ourselves the sorts of strange things that occur in this city. I want us to come together, to get organized, and to be prepared the next time that something happens."
He doesn't know what will happen next. But he's lived in Darrow for long enough to know that there will be something. There always is. The best that they can do is be prepared. And for that to happen, they need to get organized. He doesn't call them together right away, however. He figures they could all use time to themselves. He needs it, certainly, to get his bearings back after losing his abilities. He imagines that Banner will need time to readjust as well. And although neither would ever admit to it, he suspects that Stark and Romanoff could use the extra time to settle in.
After enough time has passed, he reaches out. AVENGERS ASSEMBLE, reads the text message, because he couldn't resist. Below the call to action are instructions to meet at his place.
Eventually, there are three Avengers trying to make themselves comfortable in his living room. He jumps right in, no point in keeping them waiting. "I called you all here today because it's become clear to me that there is a need here in Darrow for the Avengers. By now we've all seen for ourselves the sorts of strange things that occur in this city. I want us to come together, to get organized, and to be prepared the next time that something happens."
A long time ago, Steve Rogers made a battleground of every back alley and diner parking lot in Brooklyn, taking a stand against bullying wherever he saw it. He never thought twice before jumping in, never regretted taking action. That much is still true today. He did the right thing by stepping in, putting himself between one of the meanest looks he's ever seen cross a man's face and the girl that he was harassing. He isn't stupid; he figured it wouldn't end well for him. But he remembered this hurting much less.
Good news first: he bought the girl enough time to flee. The bad news is that now he has the undivided attention of a man who clearly didn't appreciate the interruption. Steve doesn't go down right away — at first, he puts up a hell of a fight. It's not the fight of a little kid with too much bravado backed into a corner. It's the fight of a man with years of training and experience under his belt, the fight of a man who's had the privilege of watching the Black Widow at work. Like Natasha, he tries to make up for his size with speed and skill. Evasive maneuvers keep him standing longer than he ever would have managed, before. But eventually, his opponent lands a blow, and all it takes is one. For all that he is smarter now, Steve is still weak. He goes down, hard and fast.
And he picks himself back up again, grunting through the pain. Both arms are now hovering protectively over what might be a pair of broken ribs.
"You don't know when to stay down, do you?" The man is no longer upset. He flashes his teeth in a menacing smile, clearly enjoying this now.
Steve can't draw up enough breath to speak just yet, so he shakes his head. Some things never change.
Good news first: he bought the girl enough time to flee. The bad news is that now he has the undivided attention of a man who clearly didn't appreciate the interruption. Steve doesn't go down right away — at first, he puts up a hell of a fight. It's not the fight of a little kid with too much bravado backed into a corner. It's the fight of a man with years of training and experience under his belt, the fight of a man who's had the privilege of watching the Black Widow at work. Like Natasha, he tries to make up for his size with speed and skill. Evasive maneuvers keep him standing longer than he ever would have managed, before. But eventually, his opponent lands a blow, and all it takes is one. For all that he is smarter now, Steve is still weak. He goes down, hard and fast.
And he picks himself back up again, grunting through the pain. Both arms are now hovering protectively over what might be a pair of broken ribs.
"You don't know when to stay down, do you?" The man is no longer upset. He flashes his teeth in a menacing smile, clearly enjoying this now.
Steve can't draw up enough breath to speak just yet, so he shakes his head. Some things never change.
(no subject)
Mar. 22nd, 2014 12:47 pmFor the better part of the afternoon, Steve Rogers had been waiting. He had arrived at Semele's earlier than necessary, anticipating a few hours of party preparation ahead of him, but in fact there was very little for him to do. The invitations were sent, the cake and candles were bought, and the minimal decorations that Robin had allowed took only minutes to hang. Everything else, the staff had covered. So he sat at the bar and toyed with his phone, playing game after game of Solitaire until finally people began to arrive.
"Thanks for coming," he said, shaking hands with anyone who crossed the threshold. Most of Neil's friends, he recognized; they were his friends, too. Those he didn't know, he was eager to. But for now, he was busy playing host.
When he received a text from Mike, who was on his way with an unsuspecting Neil, he whistled for the crowd's attention. They hid under tables, in dark corners, and behind the bar. It wasn't perfect, but with the lights out, it ought to work.
Moments later, a voice filtered in through door, Neil grumbling that the bar was closed. Steve hit the switch, the lights came on, and everyone sprung from their hiding places.
"Surprise!"
"Thanks for coming," he said, shaking hands with anyone who crossed the threshold. Most of Neil's friends, he recognized; they were his friends, too. Those he didn't know, he was eager to. But for now, he was busy playing host.
When he received a text from Mike, who was on his way with an unsuspecting Neil, he whistled for the crowd's attention. They hid under tables, in dark corners, and behind the bar. It wasn't perfect, but with the lights out, it ought to work.
Moments later, a voice filtered in through door, Neil grumbling that the bar was closed. Steve hit the switch, the lights came on, and everyone sprung from their hiding places.
"Surprise!"
horror looks you right between the eyes.
Oct. 28th, 2013 10:39 pmIt had been a long time since Steve Rogers had found himself in a back alley fight. In keeping with the tradition that he had set all those years ago, he was outmatched, his opponent both bigger and stronger. But boneheaded though they were, the bullies that he used to challenge to fights that he was only destined to lose were still very much human men. His rival now was quite the opposite, a towering, aggressive beast who seemed to have a personal vendetta to settle. With a coat of thick, unruly fur, it was clawed and fanged in the most intimidating possible way. Though he did his best to avoid direct contact, an angry slash across his shoulder had torn through the rough leather of Steve's jacket and left behind a ragged, bleeding gash. Fortunately, it was the other arm with which he held the shield, swinging it over his head now to deflect a blow that thundered in the cramped setting. Despite its many tactical inconveniences, Steve was grateful to have managed to corner the beast in here, the alley being far preferable to the possibility of others on the street getting hurt. If not the constant clang of metal and claw, then the repeated roaring should have kept even the most curious at a distance. But from the corner of his eye, Steve watched a figure round the corner.
In the heat of battle, he forgot all about the existence of T.J. Hammond. Instead, he saw Bucky Barnes, inexplicably alive and well and coming to his rescue just as he had in their youth. He froze just long enough for the beast to swing a heavy fist at his midsection. The force was such that Steve was lifted into the air and hurled into the brick wall behind him.
In the heat of battle, he forgot all about the existence of T.J. Hammond. Instead, he saw Bucky Barnes, inexplicably alive and well and coming to his rescue just as he had in their youth. He froze just long enough for the beast to swing a heavy fist at his midsection. The force was such that Steve was lifted into the air and hurled into the brick wall behind him.
Steve Rogers is entranced. He doesn't know how long it's been since he stopped to watch, but his guess is that he's been standing in place for at least ten minutes by now, and he has no intention of leaving any time soon. In that time, the artist squatting down by the edge of what becomes the pier has created three works of art, each more masterful than the last. The man has splayed a trash bag over the ground and works only with sheets of glossy white poster board and cans of spray paint. With these, he creates scenes of far off worlds from his imagination, places that resemble the distant ends of the universe and ancient kingdoms found only in storybooks. Places like Narnia and Middle Earth, the surface of Mars, the byfrost leading to Asgard. The man appears to have unrivaled imagination, and an even greater drive, for he doesn't appear to be stopping any time soon. He's selling them for ten bucks a pop and already Steve is certain he'll be buying at least one, but for now, he can't bring himself to stop watching the artist's process unfold. He knows his own way around a pencil and sketchpad, but it's nothing compared to the creativity and ingenuity displayed here today.
It takes a moment or two, he's so engrossed, for Steve to finally realize that he recognizes the face belonging to the blur of yellow hair hovering in his periphery, and he turns to his right with a smile. "Hi," he smiles. "We've met, haven't we? In the library, I think it was. You're a fellow New Yorker."
It takes a moment or two, he's so engrossed, for Steve to finally realize that he recognizes the face belonging to the blur of yellow hair hovering in his periphery, and he turns to his right with a smile. "Hi," he smiles. "We've met, haven't we? In the library, I think it was. You're a fellow New Yorker."
When Steve had first arrived in Darrow, Little Lorenzo's had quickly become one of his favorite haunts. He had been surprised to find that he preferred it even to the gym he had found back in Brooklyn. What he liked most was that no one knew who he was, and so they didn't know to walk on eggshells around him, the way that Fury did to an extent, and the agents at S.H.I.E.L.D. did to the maximum. The owners weren't about to put up with his tendency to go at it so hard that he beat the sand out of the punching bags or inadvertently launched them like heavy, makeshift missiles toward the opposite wall. It was, in fact, out of a need to pay off his debt for ruined equipment that Steve had first taken a job there. They couldn't have known how good it would be for him.
For the first few weeks, they'd had him performing janitorial tasks more than anything else, and while he was happy simply to have something to do, he knew that his talents were being wasted. Soon enough, Lorenzo Jr. realized it too, and within no time at all he was taking over the Saturday beginners' workshop and inaugurating the gym's first class to cater to teenage boys. For whatever reason, those were the students with whom he got on best, though he liked to think he did decent work with the few men he'd met suffering from PTSD who knew no better way of coping than to channel it into aggression. Steve made sure that they managed to exorcise their demons in a way that was productive rather than destructive and that didn't end in a visit to the hospital for either the man in question or, as was more often the case, his opponent.
This Saturday, however, Steve is most looking forward to seeing the woman he met in the café just a few weeks ago. He could tell from just their one conversation that she is someone with whom he could easily get along and something about her suggested that she would make an excellent student as well. Sure enough, she arrives a little early, like she said the would, and he has a chance to gauge her strength and flexibility as they warm up. During the class, he makes sure to divide his attention fairly among all his students, but he keeps an eye out for her throughout and finds himself repeatedly impressed.
Once the class is finished and most of his pupils have dispersed, heaving, to dry off the sweat and rehydrate, he heads over to greet her again. "Hello again," he smiles, reaching up to slick his now wet hair back from over his eyes. "I know I said so earlier, but I'm glad you decided to come. You did a great job. I have to admit, I didn't think you'd be able to keep up as well as you did."
For the first few weeks, they'd had him performing janitorial tasks more than anything else, and while he was happy simply to have something to do, he knew that his talents were being wasted. Soon enough, Lorenzo Jr. realized it too, and within no time at all he was taking over the Saturday beginners' workshop and inaugurating the gym's first class to cater to teenage boys. For whatever reason, those were the students with whom he got on best, though he liked to think he did decent work with the few men he'd met suffering from PTSD who knew no better way of coping than to channel it into aggression. Steve made sure that they managed to exorcise their demons in a way that was productive rather than destructive and that didn't end in a visit to the hospital for either the man in question or, as was more often the case, his opponent.
This Saturday, however, Steve is most looking forward to seeing the woman he met in the café just a few weeks ago. He could tell from just their one conversation that she is someone with whom he could easily get along and something about her suggested that she would make an excellent student as well. Sure enough, she arrives a little early, like she said the would, and he has a chance to gauge her strength and flexibility as they warm up. During the class, he makes sure to divide his attention fairly among all his students, but he keeps an eye out for her throughout and finds himself repeatedly impressed.
Once the class is finished and most of his pupils have dispersed, heaving, to dry off the sweat and rehydrate, he heads over to greet her again. "Hello again," he smiles, reaching up to slick his now wet hair back from over his eyes. "I know I said so earlier, but I'm glad you decided to come. You did a great job. I have to admit, I didn't think you'd be able to keep up as well as you did."
Steve had never lacked for purpose before. It was a luxury few young men ever saw back in his day, so great was the need for soldiers. He knew that he wasn't alone; readjusting to civilian life was always a challenge, and there were some who never quite managed, but he had never imagined that he would be one of them. It made a twisted sort of sense, though: he had been just a kid, then, so determined to prove himself that he'd never spared a moment to consider what might follow once he'd achieved that goal.
Well, there was time to spare for that now. In fact, he found himself wandering the city often these days, either in the name of reconnoissance or in search of something (he wasn't entirely sure what). Today, it was both, but he stopped at the café when he recognized the woman from the park.
"Excuse me, miss," he greeted her, stopping near the edge of her table. "I'm not sure if you'll remember me, we met in the park a while ago? I'm sorry for not introducing myself then; my name is Steve."
Well, there was time to spare for that now. In fact, he found himself wandering the city often these days, either in the name of reconnoissance or in search of something (he wasn't entirely sure what). Today, it was both, but he stopped at the café when he recognized the woman from the park.
"Excuse me, miss," he greeted her, stopping near the edge of her table. "I'm not sure if you'll remember me, we met in the park a while ago? I'm sorry for not introducing myself then; my name is Steve."
so how 'bout them Yankees?
Mar. 31st, 2013 12:29 pmWho knew that basketball would become so popular? Steve wouldn't have called it, but as he waits eagerly for the start of baseball season, it seems that recent happenings in college basketball are all anyone can talk about. He could always watch the game in elsewhere, but he appreciates the environment of sports bars, even if he's not too keen on the bar fights that inevitably break out between fans of opposing teams.
It took four beers for Steve to start feeling what can best be described as tingly, and even then, he had no trouble getting to his feet and making his way to the men's room. There were but two urinals, so he had no choice but to stand closer than he'd like to the only other man in the room. There they stood in that special kind of heavy silence that manage to feel uncomfortable without even trying, punctuated by the rhythm of a soft stream and then the too-loud flushing sound. One thing Steve was grateful for: it's automatic now. As awe-inspiring and inventive as modern technology can be, for Steve it's always the little things that most impress.
Finally, when they were both hunched over open faucets, Steve decided break the awkward silence. He caught the other man's reflection in the mirror and asked a question that had been bothering him for a while now. "Hey, you have any idea when the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles?"
It took four beers for Steve to start feeling what can best be described as tingly, and even then, he had no trouble getting to his feet and making his way to the men's room. There were but two urinals, so he had no choice but to stand closer than he'd like to the only other man in the room. There they stood in that special kind of heavy silence that manage to feel uncomfortable without even trying, punctuated by the rhythm of a soft stream and then the too-loud flushing sound. One thing Steve was grateful for: it's automatic now. As awe-inspiring and inventive as modern technology can be, for Steve it's always the little things that most impress.
Finally, when they were both hunched over open faucets, Steve decided break the awkward silence. He caught the other man's reflection in the mirror and asked a question that had been bothering him for a while now. "Hey, you have any idea when the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles?"
sorry, goop.
Mar. 31st, 2013 11:58 amBooks were always there for Steve when he was just a helpless kid in desperate search of an escape, whether it was after they got news his father had been KIA, during the worst of the depression, or when he refused to leave the side of his mother's death bed. Now, Darrow offers all of the escapism a man could want, but he always was a sentimental one. For too long, books and Bucky were his only friends. There was nothing he could do about missing the latter, but far be it from him to abandon the former. Besides, he had time to spare these days.
After milling around the shelves for a few minutes, Steve came across a table display that offered staff recommendations. He amused himself by trying to to match each book to its recommender, starting with the girl with braces behind the cashier who couldn't be more than seventeen, which was pushing it. Hers, he decided, was Unremembered, the thrilling tale of 16-year-old Seraphina, who survives a deadly airplane crash without a scratch. He wondered if the word unremembered would pass the spell check on his city issued cellphone. Next, he picked up It's All Good: Delicious, Easy Recipes That Will Make You Look Good and Feel Great, which the dust jacket informed him was written by an Academy Award winning actress named Gwyneth Paltrow, who also happened to be a bestselling cookbook author. She was pictured on the cover smiling in front of a crate of cucumbers, and Steve was surprised by the striking resemblance she bore to the woman Tony Stark had appointed CEO of Howard's empire. He'd never been formally introduced but they had exchanged looks across a busy room during one of the many debriefs at S.H.I.E.L.D. that followed the battle in New York, and in that one look she had managed to convey that she shared his own exasperation with the younger Stark. This selection he attributed to a young man who looked as if he spent more time at the gym than he did here at work and whose skin was inexplicably tanned for the weather they had been having. Just now he was chatting up a pair of well-dressed women who seemed even less interested in the merchandise than he. Still, they hung on his every word.
Setting the cookbook down, Steve moved on to The Devil in the White City, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his eyes growing wider with every line that he read from the synopsis.
After milling around the shelves for a few minutes, Steve came across a table display that offered staff recommendations. He amused himself by trying to to match each book to its recommender, starting with the girl with braces behind the cashier who couldn't be more than seventeen, which was pushing it. Hers, he decided, was Unremembered, the thrilling tale of 16-year-old Seraphina, who survives a deadly airplane crash without a scratch. He wondered if the word unremembered would pass the spell check on his city issued cellphone. Next, he picked up It's All Good: Delicious, Easy Recipes That Will Make You Look Good and Feel Great, which the dust jacket informed him was written by an Academy Award winning actress named Gwyneth Paltrow, who also happened to be a bestselling cookbook author. She was pictured on the cover smiling in front of a crate of cucumbers, and Steve was surprised by the striking resemblance she bore to the woman Tony Stark had appointed CEO of Howard's empire. He'd never been formally introduced but they had exchanged looks across a busy room during one of the many debriefs at S.H.I.E.L.D. that followed the battle in New York, and in that one look she had managed to convey that she shared his own exasperation with the younger Stark. This selection he attributed to a young man who looked as if he spent more time at the gym than he did here at work and whose skin was inexplicably tanned for the weather they had been having. Just now he was chatting up a pair of well-dressed women who seemed even less interested in the merchandise than he. Still, they hung on his every word.
Setting the cookbook down, Steve moved on to The Devil in the White City, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his eyes growing wider with every line that he read from the synopsis.