#wxntforget

Then again, he wasn’t the best judge of age, he called everyone younger than him a kid, just as much people did the same to him, despite being close to his 30′s now. Unbelievable. 

Heavy footsteps sounded off on the pavement, as the man went from passerby to passerby, halting them momentarily before moving on, an apology offered for their trouble. Beneath the (plastic) helmet, the man’s expression was calm, with hints of frustration beginning to grow. It had been a little over an hour and yet a very simple question was going unanswered. It was as though the very concept of what he was asking seemed to go over the citizens heads, most of them giving the man a quizzical look. To anyone else, the lack of aid would be infuriating. To Jameson Locke, it was just another trouble in his growing pile. He moved to the next person, this one a girl, with an air a bit more distinct than the other citizens he had spoken to up to that point.

Oh, crap. This entire block’s just untraversable. Or at least, it is for anyone without Crane’s sense of mobility. Rather than try to climb over the burning rubble, he leaps at one of the still standing buildings and latches onto the window sill. With a clamber, he grabs onto the decorative molding and shimmies over the mess.

How many days had it been now? Jonas vaguely remembers marking his fingers, like some sort of compulsion, and stares at the sharpie along the joints. God, he really hoped that Alex was okay. Ren was with her, right? (He felt somewhat guilty for having Alex tunnel vision, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care what happened to Ren.)

Kicking at the ground in abject defeat, Jonas crushes the heel of his palm against his eyes. Dammit.