- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- fantasy, sci-fi, superheroes, action, adventure, combat, science fantasy, supernatural, hurt/comfort, modern fantasy
Valerie
Martin
April 3, 2018 | late afternoon | Manhattan, NYC—the Nook
Charles (@Huntress), Victoria (@Gands), Colton (@LuckycoolHawk9), Catherine (@LuckycoolHawk9), Warren (@LuckycoolHawk9)
Morgan (@LuckycoolHawk9), "Angelo" (@LuckycoolHawk9), Spectre (@Astroblaze), Emerald Dream (@Gands), Twiggy (@LuckycoolHawk9), Ian (@LuckycoolHawk9)
At that moment, Valerie's phone started buzzing against her hip. Upon checking it to a familiar number, she immediately accepted the call. "Yeah? It's Val."
She could picture Martin's uncertain frown in the note of hesitation in his soft voice. "Hey, uh, I just pulled up but there are two individuals hanging around outside the front entrance of the bar. I assume they're unwanted. Is there another way I can come in?"
"Oh, yeah, we're kinda holding out until they go away—or until the heroes get back, whichever comes first," she affirmed. "Loop around the block, park in that side-road, and come to the back door—somebody'll let you in."
"Alright. Give me a moment." With a click and a low beeping, he was gone again.
Returning her phone to her pocket, Valerie looked to the rest of the group. "That was Martin: he just arrived, though he's swinging around back given—" she tilted her head toward the front door— "our uninvited guests out front."
A few moments later, a soft rapping sounded from the back door to the establishment. Upon being answered, the youthful Irishman himself would hasten inside, still dressed in his muted cobalt scrubs with his medical bag slung over one shoulder.
"I'm sorry I took so long," Martin panted as he hurried out of the kitchen into the main area, a hand darting absently through wild chestnut-toned hair. "I had some trouble getting out of work, and then I hit traffic on my way down. Where is he?"
"You're fine, Martin," Valerie smiled. "It's good to see you again." Martin cast her a harried but agreeing smile in return. Gesturing for him to follow, she led the nurse to the booth where Spectre had laid Warren's swaddled form. Though he had entered appearing jittery and disheveled, the nurse's entire demeanor visibly shifted upon sight of the unconscious metahuman: his posture straightened, cool gray eyes sharpened, and calm focus replaced nervous energy. Promptly stepping forward, he set his satchel in the adjacent bench and flipped it open to sift purposefully through its contents.
Noting that his newly assigned patient commanded his attention, Valerie backed away to give him space, though she kept a wary eye on the pair, leaving a hand resting on the butt of her handgun in case the metahuman turned hostile against her friend.