acelawrences:
Stretched out on a bench in Central Park, Ace crossed his legs at the ankles as he browsed the morning paper, a coffee held in his other hand. He had dipped out of his home an hour earlier to avoid having to spend the entire day with his wife or his daughter.
For as much of a family man as Ace was, he also liked his solitude.
When he was younger, before he had the stable home life he had now, he had slept on the very bench he was sprawled on.
(Or one similar to it, Central Park was huge and it was a safe bet to assume he was kicked out for being either drunk or high. It was all a little fuzzy still, sans for being chased by park police. That he did remember.)
“Yes that seat is indeed taken,” Ace informed the rustling of footsteps that neared him without looking up.
“And I don’t have any change either so don’t ask me.”
“Be not alarmed, sir, I have no intentions to take it” she clarified, defiantly so, almost. Once again, her morning had been beyond hectic and this time it had nothing to do with her hotel -- well, it had everything to do with L’Heretique. Imogen smoothed down the fabric of her shirt after having picked up a small purple ball from the ground, just two days before she had given into the bright eyes of a black and white husky at the shelter.
Dead mother, too shy to be attractive to families who searched for a playful pet, perfect for her. Naming him David, the dog had been far too cowardly to engage in a normal game as any other, but Imogen did not give up on him just yet. Growing fond of animals, yet another enviable quality. The french woman spoke again, words laced in a semi-well concealed accent “But do I look as though I would need any change, sir?” being that the case, she was not succeeding in her little hotel owning scheme. Her mother would be proud, sarcasm.
