[ Well, there's something you don't hear every day.
Scott is on his ten-minute break, taking advantage of that fresh air away from the sugary sweet scent of strawberry, vanilla, chocolate ice cream. He's not sure why he's still working here, but he's never really felt the need to quit either. Something about saving up his money for something or someone ... eh. Whatever.
Anyway. It's the scream that catches his attention, jerking him out of his 'why is this my life' time of day. He pulls off his apron, bundling it up and tossing the white canvas fabric next to the garbage bins (he's so gonna be fired after this, isn't he?), and makes a mad dash towards the direction of the scream. There are barely any other thoughts in his head, only the one: whoever's out there needs his help.
It's such a weird feeling but it fills him with ... adrenaline. Or excitement. Something along those lines. It's like the fog's lifted and here he is ... doing what he should be doing. It'd been way too easy to get back into the swing of things after the hospital accident. He felt practically no shift at all when he'd picked his things up from the sheriff's office and got that phonecall from Lagomarcino's, asking if he'd be able to make the 8AM shift on Friday. (He said 'yes' without thinking.)
Running towards the trees, running straight into danger, it doesn't really faze him the way it probably should. Only when he feels his lungs burn from the need for more oxygen, Scott pauses, resting his hands on his knees, bent forward to breathe in hard.
Man, he is so outta shape. ]
Hey -! [ He straightens, calling out. ] Is anyone out here?
❚❚❚❚❚ ii. fourth of july
[ The fireworks are a nice way to end the day.
Scott spends his time oscillating between the food banquet (he brought his own recipe of cornbread, which is easy enough to make and doesn't remind him of ice cream) and a couple of the tables to chat. Mingling's never been his thing, exactly, but it's kind of nice as far as distractions go. After the other day's events in the woods, Scott has been pretty keen on trying not to let whatever it is he saw get to him. More questions means more trouble and Scott has a very strong feeling that he should probably be lying low and staying out of it.
He'll try anyway.
Currently he plops down at a table with a plate of food and nods to his companions. ]
Hi. So what did you all bring to the potluck?
[ Maybe recipe-swapping can be a thing.
Aaand later on, he'll be hanging around to watch the fireworks, sparkler in hand. This town, all things considered, is pretty great. Not quite right, but not bad either. It sure beats prison.
scott lang | mcu
[ Well, there's something you don't hear every day.
Scott is on his ten-minute break, taking advantage of that fresh air away from the sugary sweet scent of strawberry, vanilla, chocolate ice cream. He's not sure why he's still working here, but he's never really felt the need to quit either. Something about saving up his money for something or someone ... eh. Whatever.
Anyway. It's the scream that catches his attention, jerking him out of his 'why is this my life' time of day. He pulls off his apron, bundling it up and tossing the white canvas fabric next to the garbage bins (he's so gonna be fired after this, isn't he?), and makes a mad dash towards the direction of the scream. There are barely any other thoughts in his head, only the one: whoever's out there needs his help.
It's such a weird feeling but it fills him with ... adrenaline. Or excitement. Something along those lines. It's like the fog's lifted and here he is ... doing what he should be doing. It'd been way too easy to get back into the swing of things after the hospital accident. He felt practically no shift at all when he'd picked his things up from the sheriff's office and got that phonecall from Lagomarcino's, asking if he'd be able to make the 8AM shift on Friday. (He said 'yes' without thinking.)
Running towards the trees, running straight into danger, it doesn't really faze him the way it probably should. Only when he feels his lungs burn from the need for more oxygen, Scott pauses, resting his hands on his knees, bent forward to breathe in hard.
Man, he is so outta shape. ]
Hey -! [ He straightens, calling out. ] Is anyone out here?
❚❚❚❚❚ ii. fourth of july
[ The fireworks are a nice way to end the day.
Scott spends his time oscillating between the food banquet (he brought his own recipe of cornbread, which is easy enough to make and doesn't remind him of ice cream) and a couple of the tables to chat. Mingling's never been his thing, exactly, but it's kind of nice as far as distractions go. After the other day's events in the woods, Scott has been pretty keen on trying not to let whatever it is he saw get to him. More questions means more trouble and Scott has a very strong feeling that he should probably be lying low and staying out of it.
He'll try anyway.
Currently he plops down at a table with a plate of food and nods to his companions. ]
Hi. So what did you all bring to the potluck?
[ Maybe recipe-swapping can be a thing.
Aaand later on, he'll be hanging around to watch the fireworks, sparkler in hand. This town, all things considered, is pretty great. Not quite right, but not bad either. It sure beats prison.
Wait.
Why did he have that thought?
Huh. ]