Post by Frick on Sept 1, 2010 22:06:06 GMT
Frick always found he enjoyed the park on days like this. Rain, and wind battering windows, blowing leaves starting to turn from green to browns and reds everywhere. Leaves signifying the coming of his personal favorite season, Autumn.
His favorite season because his body didn’t go through any weird changes like it did the rest of the year. Spring his horns fell off, and summer they painfully regrew, maybe an inch larger than they were. Though this would stop happening soon, they would be fully grown by the time he was thirty. In the winter his body just made him more suseptible to the cold. And Frick hated the cold. He would complain about it, probably from October until April. His bed would have two or three covers, a blanket and a fur blanket on top of that. He would live in fleeces and hoodies, and not go outside in the cold unless he really had to.
Stupid winter.
But it wasn’t winter yet. It was autumn. Autumn was good.
For now, kids played in the play area, their parents all sitting and watching close by. With kids who were necessarily normal, while they might happily play with each other, their own personal mutations might react to one another, which was always a risk, so parents always watched closely.
For now, Frick was sitting in the park café. Mug of coffee in one hand and newspaper on his lap while he read the headlines. It was a small establishment with a main desk, a selection of pasteries, coffees, tea, cakes and a handful of tables with chairs. He enjoyed his time like this, time to himself where he could do as he pleased, read and enjoy his own company. Though soon he would move off and head back to the school where he lived, and taught. He would need to run through his plans for the up coming school year, the curriculem. It all needed organising.
He would finish his coffee, maybe have another, and finish his paper. Then he would be off.
His favorite season because his body didn’t go through any weird changes like it did the rest of the year. Spring his horns fell off, and summer they painfully regrew, maybe an inch larger than they were. Though this would stop happening soon, they would be fully grown by the time he was thirty. In the winter his body just made him more suseptible to the cold. And Frick hated the cold. He would complain about it, probably from October until April. His bed would have two or three covers, a blanket and a fur blanket on top of that. He would live in fleeces and hoodies, and not go outside in the cold unless he really had to.
Stupid winter.
But it wasn’t winter yet. It was autumn. Autumn was good.
For now, kids played in the play area, their parents all sitting and watching close by. With kids who were necessarily normal, while they might happily play with each other, their own personal mutations might react to one another, which was always a risk, so parents always watched closely.
For now, Frick was sitting in the park café. Mug of coffee in one hand and newspaper on his lap while he read the headlines. It was a small establishment with a main desk, a selection of pasteries, coffees, tea, cakes and a handful of tables with chairs. He enjoyed his time like this, time to himself where he could do as he pleased, read and enjoy his own company. Though soon he would move off and head back to the school where he lived, and taught. He would need to run through his plans for the up coming school year, the curriculem. It all needed organising.
He would finish his coffee, maybe have another, and finish his paper. Then he would be off.