Quiet (Tess)
Mar 28, 2010 10:39:06 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 28, 2010 10:39:06 GMT -5
The sky was clear, and the temperature was enough that Sean was drawn outside. The institute wasn’t so large that he couldn’t be found if he was needed, and otherwise, he felt that he was entitled to some fresh air and a change of scenery. He liked his office; he’d decorated it himself, after all, but sometimes it could be a bit confining.
He’d settled in the court yard, because he could, although once he sat down in the grass with his back propped against a tree, he realized he wouldn’t get up in the near future. His knees had protested on the way down; he wouldn’t reverse the process until he was ready to go inside.
He’s brought with him two newspapers: the local paper for the area, and a copy of the New York Times; the former was delivered to his home every day, but he lived far outside the circulation range of the latter, so he had to pay newsstand prices for it, and pick it up on the way to or from work every day. He had an online subscription, but that wasn’t the same; he liked holding the paper in his hand and being able to read it anywhere he wished. He hadn’t lived in New York for over some two decades at this point in life, but he still found the Times to be the best paper in the country – although their “all the news that’s fit to print” motto was a bit pretentious – and he preferred it to any New England paper that was closer. He read the local paper to stay informed of the town and state around them, for peace of mind, and to remind himself that, yes, he lived in Vermont.
For the moment, he had the World News section open in his lap, the other sections on the grass beside him, and he scanned the paper for anything that indicated the world was either on the verge of war, or preparing for peace. And, as always, news of how meta-humans were treated in other nations. His jacket was folded beside him, although he kept his tie on, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
He’d settled in the court yard, because he could, although once he sat down in the grass with his back propped against a tree, he realized he wouldn’t get up in the near future. His knees had protested on the way down; he wouldn’t reverse the process until he was ready to go inside.
He’s brought with him two newspapers: the local paper for the area, and a copy of the New York Times; the former was delivered to his home every day, but he lived far outside the circulation range of the latter, so he had to pay newsstand prices for it, and pick it up on the way to or from work every day. He had an online subscription, but that wasn’t the same; he liked holding the paper in his hand and being able to read it anywhere he wished. He hadn’t lived in New York for over some two decades at this point in life, but he still found the Times to be the best paper in the country – although their “all the news that’s fit to print” motto was a bit pretentious – and he preferred it to any New England paper that was closer. He read the local paper to stay informed of the town and state around them, for peace of mind, and to remind himself that, yes, he lived in Vermont.
For the moment, he had the World News section open in his lap, the other sections on the grass beside him, and he scanned the paper for anything that indicated the world was either on the verge of war, or preparing for peace. And, as always, news of how meta-humans were treated in other nations. His jacket was folded beside him, although he kept his tie on, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
