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Mᴏʀɢᴀɴ Bʟᴀᴋᴇ; ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴛᴇᴍ (
2015-11-05 07:53 pm (UTC)
Amidst the backpacks, peeled-away hoodies, and iced coffee cups clutched in the hands of the majority of pedestrian traffic, one man looms a bit darkly as he slips along the distracted public. It's not entirely his stubborn nature that has him keeping his darkly dyed denim jacket on in this nice weather, but more likely being so barely aware to feel inconvenienced by it. Morgan isn't incredibly familiar with the nearby college and its campuses -- in his line of work, there is very little need for this brand of 'higher education' -- but it's a brief visit to see a friend that has him coming into uncharted territory. He's been told by Lee how much less confusing it is to use the shuttle system instead of wasting thirty minutes cycling through parking lots looking for free visitor spots. He doesn't mind the walk, and he much less minds avoiding unnecessary headaches.
He thinks he sees the intersection at the end of the block, a shuttle stop should be just past it. Might as well light up now and get a quick smoke in before he gets on a shuttle.
He's pulling one out of his pack when he hears a bird's cry above his head. To call it
still doesn't entirely give the sensation adequate justice. It's instinctual, like a newborn creature completely tuned to its mother's voice. A raven perches on a light post beside Morgan, one holding a decorative potted plant ten feet from the ground. It titters anxiously.
Morgan stops, hands paused in their task of pulling a cigarette from its package, eyes on the Raven. His brow crinkles in concern.
Amongst the meager amount of people walking past, one tall, broad man moves past Morgan. It's a man he doesn't even take notice of, until --
His gut wrenches, intensely and with a fierce hunger. It's sharp, but fleeting, and has Morgan standing rigidly still to keep himself from reacting too visibly. The Raven ruffles it's plumage.
'It's not right, not right, not him, not today.'
What, who? Morgan looks over his shoulder, scanning the people on the street hurriedly. His stomach growls weakly, not so much in hunger as it is protesting the visceral reaction to something it did not agree to. The fair, tall man -- walking slowly away, down where Morgan came from. Him?
The Raven takes off, a few yards and two light posts down. It flaps its wings. Yes, Morgan,
Fuck, what should he do? His head is still working to regain its balance and he's barely sure of what is being conveyed to him. He has sensed death on people many times, but never before has it been this...startlingly intense. It must be happening soon. He needs to interrupt his currently running course, pull him off the path toward his impending death.
"Uhh...shit," Morgan whispers to himself as he bolts after the man. Closing the space between them, he calls to him, "H-hey!"
Then, a tap on his upper arm. "Hey, uh, do-- do you uh..." Morgan looks down at his hands. Cigarette. "Have a light?"
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