Open Post 002

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

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[futureleader]

[Perhaps it was just out of pure habit that Quentin would tune in to the city's many voices. In a way, it was like tuning out for him, to hear all the voices merged as one into a giant static of nonsense. Sometimes fragments of sentences spoke loud and clear to Quentin. Othertimes, it was white noise. White noise that helped him focus in the busy streets of the city. It helped him push his thoughts, scanning the areas for unwanted persons. Sometimes on occasion he would find something that piqued his interest, though rarely. Quentin had learned not to go chasing after every clearly trailed voice now that he was a wanted terrorist within the city.

Quentin was curious and he was disguised, telepathically anyways. Dressed in a blazer and slacks, Quentin looks quite sharp. Especially with auburn hair whipping forward to form a neat point on the top of his head. Disguises, however, meant nothing if you weren't cautious. But curiosity always got the better of him.

Like bloodhound (mindhound?) he picks up the familiarity of a mental thought. Using it as a map, he follows the trail of broken puzzles. Piecing them together as he walked. Where it takes him, near an alleyway of some far off street. Quentin watches the man take a left. He knows him, by the familiarity of brain-pattern but he can't quite name the individual. Perhaps it hasn't quite clicked in his mind just who it was he was watching. Edward was known, yes. But not acknowledged.]

[enigmaestro]

[He takes a few haggard breaths, his left hand balled into a fist and anchoring his body against the wall. These attacks, they swarmed him, they seeped into him. Memories so unavoidable. His defense mechanism was to riddle himself out of it, jumping three steps ahead of his own panic with coded thoughts. To a lock's mate, then ended in a pea without its pod. Keep. The first third of Monday and the middle of never, before entering a grave's first. Moving.

His chest was squeezed, and phantom needles pushed into his eyes, his throat and arms.

And a long, cold exhale.

Only then does he sense he's being watched.]

Do you --

[A quick heel turn, hands splayed and fingers itching. It's a defense stance, a prone to action pose. The slick suit, the auburn hair didn't ring a bell, but Edward couldn't bear to trust his own memory sometimes. It was so often a mirror shattered.]

Do you know me?

[Admittedly a peculiar question, but the one most burning on his tongue.]

[futureleader]

[ He doesn't answer, not at first anyways. Not because he doesn't have an answer. But because he was taking in the observations of every movement in Edward's body. The language of the body had a lot to say about the man in front of him as did his broken record thoughts. It doesn't take long for him to respond regardless.]

Edward.

[ His tone isn't hostile, far from it in fact. Quentin's voice has that air of familiarity. Not the kind that is common, but the kind of voice that you don't forget. That, and his voice was heard on the news around the city.]