#a.brett

Pressure?  Under pressure.  Brett Levine was not a man who crumbled under pressure.  Brett has always believed that how a person reacted to the pressure that was placed on them was what determined them as a person.  

Although Brett was a mood-maker, even he couldn’t shake the stillness that filled the air of Inner Sanctum.  A break was needed, definitely needed.  Even if that break meant heading down to the park to find Ceres’ best schwarma vendor.  Even if the weather was far colder than necessary, it didn’t change the line of people who stood around the corner for the schwarma.  Brett looked over to Honor as he gestured to the line, “Don’t worry.  It moves fast.  Mr. Hall usually gets everyone their food really fast.  I go here all the time.”  He might have been assuring the woman, but that did not stop him from peering over the people see how the line was moving.  // @torrcntivl

Brett had memorized where Julienne’s tiny home was.  Even if she tried to move it, he was certain he could find that woman.  He landed on her property - she’d probably accuse him for trespassing, but he was used to it - and walked over to the front of her tiny home.  “Julienne,” Brett called out after he knocked on her door, “I’d toss rocks at your window but that might break it.”  It was tiny home.  He was an alien that had super strength as part of his birthright.  He stepped back, “We need to talk, Julienne.  It’s important.”  He’d been wrestling with that since the moment he heard the news.  Part of him knew the truth already, but part of him hoped that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.  // @jvonr

@twicehunted || Secret identities were created for a reason: safety, protection, whatever bullshit people tacked on.  Hyperion had his reasons but they weren’t nearly as noble as others.  His rounds as Hyperion ended on the roof of a dimly lit building, in a less populated area of the city which was why he was comfortable removing the hood.  He rolled his shoulders, getting the kinks out of his back as he walked further away from the edge of building and toward its center.

“Wow,” Brett said as he lifted his eyes from his cellphone.  The line for the coffee shop was far longer than he expected his morning.  He had checked his phone for the time, but lost himself in one of the most recent articles about the occurrences in Ceres Centropolis.  “I cannot believe that happened recently,” he said to the person in front of him at the queue, “Can you believe that?  I mean, I guess, I should have expected it, but still, wow.”