aeons_crackshot (
aeons_crackshot) wrote2010-03-13 08:12 pm
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AU: Chicago 1926
Eventually, the jungle was left behind and the FreakAngels and the members of the Æon Society made their way to Æon's headquarters in Chicago.
The headquarters looks, to the casual observer, much like the home of someone who is very well to do. It is, of course. Maxwell Anderson Mercer is a very wealthy man, philanthropist or no, after all. It's only when you look deeper and realize how solidly built the place is and that certain extra security measures are in place that it begins to reveal itself for what it is.
Namely, the home base of people who, not to put too fine a point on it, quite a lot of dangerous people want dead.
There is an island of calm in the hustle and bustle, the Archives. Every piece of research, every note, every adventure of the Society's members is in here...somewhere.
The headquarters looks, to the casual observer, much like the home of someone who is very well to do. It is, of course. Maxwell Anderson Mercer is a very wealthy man, philanthropist or no, after all. It's only when you look deeper and realize how solidly built the place is and that certain extra security measures are in place that it begins to reveal itself for what it is.
Namely, the home base of people who, not to put too fine a point on it, quite a lot of dangerous people want dead.
There is an island of calm in the hustle and bustle, the Archives. Every piece of research, every note, every adventure of the Society's members is in here...somewhere.
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She's 17 and she's already nearly died twice, and that's not counting all the other incidents of grievous bodily harm.
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Still, they have something in common. Yay?
At that point, a bespectacled young man in a suit comes around the corner with a lost and confused expression.
He looks at Connor briefly, but most of his attention is taken up by Annabelle.
To an empath, or someone with a lot more people skills than Annabelle possesses, a lot of his internal indecision is plain to see.
He recognizes her from pictures in the paper, you see, and he's torn between "Damn, she's hot" and being horribly, horribly intimidated.
"Er...I don't s..s.suppose you know wh.. where the in..information on the Death Zeppelins is?" He finally stammers out.
Annabelle is entirely oblivious to the internal conflict. "Sure," she says with a smile. "Hang a left at the spear, go down two rows and take a right at the giant stone head."
The reporter stammers his thanks and wanders off in the appropriate direction before he can embarrass himself any further.
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And attractive is the polite word for it.
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"Huh. Well, I suppose that's not too surprising." Annabelle knows she's pretty, she just doesn't feel the need to dwell on it at all.
"Poor fellow, I wonder if the stammer is why he's in journalism. You can't stammer with a typewriter..."
She hasn't made the connection between the attraction and the stuttering, as it's rather foreign to her own nature. Annabelle tends to confront things head on and metaphorical guns blazing, most of the time.
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"Guess you never noticed the effect you have on guys?"
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"No, I suppose I haven't," she admits. She's spent most of her life trying to prove that she's as tough or tougher than any man, thank you. This has not lent itself to exploits of a romantic nature.
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The 1920s is not an era for gender equality, by any means.
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Think Connor, think instead of blushing!
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...
"Funny how it is easier around the others. More natural, to not only speak but also to talk mind to mind."
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She ponders his second statement. "Their minds are probably quieter, more organized," Annabelle guesses. "If you can hear other people's thoughts, you might think more about your own?"
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"Have you seen much of the city yet?" she asks, curious.
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The fact that she thinks he's kind of cute has nothing whatsoever to do with this decision, really, we swear!
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Annabelle's usual attire isn't precisely typical for a woman her age either, but, frankly, she does not care.
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Ten minutes later, he is by the front door.
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"Ready to go?" she asks.
The scene out the front door will look a lot like this.
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Yeah, the city is a city, not too strange, but the people all dress weird.
Of course, if asked, they would say it's Connor and Annabelle dressing weird, right?
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"I suspect you'd like the library," Annabelle says with a smile. "It's a beautiful building on the inside."
Eventually, they'll make their way here.
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