Feb 2, 2012
(your head canon links to your ask o.o)
(( ...wat. oops. Stupid thing. Thank you o.o ))
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from South Korea
seen from Germany
seen from Peru
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Brazil
(your head canon links to your ask o.o)
(( ...wat. oops. Stupid thing. Thank you o.o ))
Even superheroes need to unwind...
Collinsindusties:
The day had been long and strenuous. Misha felt like he'd been given some sort of head trauma from all of the times he'd been thrown against the unforgiving ground. It had been a good month since the last time he had needed to don his suit to save the general populace. The break had been nice but life wasn't kind enough to make all of the twisted people bugger off, and until that day came Misha would be fighting along side some of the most amazing people the world, and the cosmos, had to offer.
Somehow he'd ended up wandering through Palo Alto. He'd be flying home if it wasn't for a broken thruster. Someone would have to pick him up—but the communication system was down. All he had on him was, surprisingly, a credit card. He pressed a button in the side of his neck, thankful that the helmet at least retracted properly. It was hotter than hell in there but he couldn't get the damn suit off until he got home.
He wandered for almost an hour before the dim lights of a bar caught his attention. Beer and a phone—now that was his kind of place right now. He glanced down at himself, still fully suited, before shrugging. What the hell? He was thirsty, hungry, and wanted to go home. A bar was a nice place to hang out until someone could come get him.
"Honey, I'm home," Misha yelled loudly as he threw open the door. He was such an attention whore at times... Always.
“Dee, table 5, quick now.” The manager barked at Deanna. She grabbed her notepad and pen, preparing for the usual frat boys, ready to paw and grab at her. She hated working at the dirty college pub, but she was good at it, it paid the bills, and it was near Sam.
Deanna had to fight her way to the booth in the corner, nudging bodies out of the way. When she neared the table she sighed in relief ‘Just one guy. Perfect.’She pulled out her notepad and looked down. “Hi, welcome to Paul’s Pub’n’Grub. May I take your order?”