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Christopher Crutchfield
"It's a sideways promotion."
0 · 280 views · located in 
Main Street
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Curtsive
Description
Blind(?).
So begins...
Christopher Crutchfield's Story
- Seen 78 Times • Page 1 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
Christopher was on his nightly commute, and he was traveling alone. It was a habit he'd acquired only recently, then. Perhaps it wasn't a smart thing to do at all, but the residential area of Wing City he'd resided in was anything but loud and dangerous; a clear contrast to the inner city.
And so, he walked with his hands tucked neatly in his pockets. A pair of opaque sunglasses were hiked up to the top of his head, the only thing that could have been stranger was if they were on his face. But, his eyes were neatly shielded by the dim lack of light that night brought. What looked like a small, hollow pole was tucked through his belt-loop. Past that, the clothes he wore were normal; a jacket and jeans.
And as he walked, the slap of his soles against the sidewalk pavement made a distinct sound. It almost sounded like clicks.
And so, he walked with his hands tucked neatly in his pockets. A pair of opaque sunglasses were hiked up to the top of his head, the only thing that could have been stranger was if they were on his face. But, his eyes were neatly shielded by the dim lack of light that night brought. What looked like a small, hollow pole was tucked through his belt-loop. Past that, the clothes he wore were normal; a jacket and jeans.
And as he walked, the slap of his soles against the sidewalk pavement made a distinct sound. It almost sounded like clicks.
Christopher's strides became longer the moment that he realized there was another person there. The duration of silence between the click, click, click had extended, as far as he could without having drawn much attention. The clear of her throat wasn't neccesary, but it was to get him to realize that she'd wanted him. And so, his name was called out.
Almost instinctively, he reached to his head, and brought the near-opaque pair of sunglasses down to cover his eyes. His heel dug into the ground and he pivoted slightly as he abruptly stopped.
"...Yes? Do I know you; have we met, perhaps?" He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. To him, it was obvious why he met the woman with hesitation. To her, perhaps not so much. It certainly wasn't the tone of her voice. But, what else could a man without sight see wrong in a person? Christopher seemed to give a half-nod to the woman as he opened his mouth to speak beforehand.
Almost instinctively, he reached to his head, and brought the near-opaque pair of sunglasses down to cover his eyes. His heel dug into the ground and he pivoted slightly as he abruptly stopped.
"...Yes? Do I know you; have we met, perhaps?" He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. To him, it was obvious why he met the woman with hesitation. To her, perhaps not so much. It certainly wasn't the tone of her voice. But, what else could a man without sight see wrong in a person? Christopher seemed to give a half-nod to the woman as he opened his mouth to speak beforehand.
It was a walking cane on his hip, though it wasn't extended. It was withdrawn into itself; obviously extendable, perhaps not recognizable in it's form to anyone who hadn't seen one before. Nothing more than a red stick. His head faced toward the woman, though his gaze didn't seem to pander elsewhere. All in all, his appearance was confusing. Perhaps it was an act of waning apathy on his part, perhaps he was simply unprepared. Either or, his hand gestured to the direction he was walking beforehand. It was a sign that asked her to walk with him, made obvious as he quickly started to walk again, though his pace resumed normalcy.
"Nice to meet you, Cerise. Strange you'd seek me at such a time of night, but there's stranger."
The statement was ironic in itself, but they were both an odd pair. She, who carried a shotgun on her back, and he, whose mixed signals could confuse the smartest person. "Well, you know my name already, so I won't introduce myself. What is it that you wanted to talk about...?"
He paused for a moment.
"Are you one of my cousins?"
"Nice to meet you, Cerise. Strange you'd seek me at such a time of night, but there's stranger."
The statement was ironic in itself, but they were both an odd pair. She, who carried a shotgun on her back, and he, whose mixed signals could confuse the smartest person. "Well, you know my name already, so I won't introduce myself. What is it that you wanted to talk about...?"
He paused for a moment.
"Are you one of my cousins?"
"Well, I can't quite remember meeting you. Unless you were..." Christopher seemed to suddenly stop his train of thought, and shake his head. In the same S&R team. Not quite something he wanted to bring up as a tangent. He almost felt obligated to open his mouth again, though next to nothing came out. "Nah, couldn't be."
Still, it seemed the woman was resilient in not answering his question. She had a gun on her back, that was all he knew. The shape was familiar to him. His only salvation in alleviating the fairly well concealed discomfort was the conversation he'd futilely been attempting to continue. It was all a plight in itself, not to mention that he'd been anything but on guard. The next thing she'd asked was the real hitter, though.
So much so, that he'd stopped in his tracks.
But he'd give it to her. He wore sunglasses during the night, if only because he had to choose between wearing unconventional apparel for the time, or giving awa his sight entirely. It was easy to have an excuse to wear sunglasses during the day; there was a sun. His mind struggled between choosing if it was a fair assumption, or an oddly specific guess.
"I am sighted." He looked down, to the red stick tucked into his belt loop. "I'm dropping it off to my Aunt Mertha. She has to have it by morning, or she'll lock herself in the pantry. Blind as a bat and dim as a fish. She'd probably starve to death. I figured if the neighbors could leave their doors unlocked during the day, a stroll over at night wouldn't hurt."
It was the most he'd actually said to the woman, but the words came out of his mouth as if they were actually true.
Still, it seemed the woman was resilient in not answering his question. She had a gun on her back, that was all he knew. The shape was familiar to him. His only salvation in alleviating the fairly well concealed discomfort was the conversation he'd futilely been attempting to continue. It was all a plight in itself, not to mention that he'd been anything but on guard. The next thing she'd asked was the real hitter, though.
So much so, that he'd stopped in his tracks.
But he'd give it to her. He wore sunglasses during the night, if only because he had to choose between wearing unconventional apparel for the time, or giving awa his sight entirely. It was easy to have an excuse to wear sunglasses during the day; there was a sun. His mind struggled between choosing if it was a fair assumption, or an oddly specific guess.
"I am sighted." He looked down, to the red stick tucked into his belt loop. "I'm dropping it off to my Aunt Mertha. She has to have it by morning, or she'll lock herself in the pantry. Blind as a bat and dim as a fish. She'd probably starve to death. I figured if the neighbors could leave their doors unlocked during the day, a stroll over at night wouldn't hurt."
It was the most he'd actually said to the woman, but the words came out of his mouth as if they were actually true.
"I almost feel like you're trying to imply that my sunglasses don't make me look cool. I'm offended, really." retorted Christopher, in response. A surefire way to avoid a subject was to make witty banter. It did occur to him that it wouldn't matter, however. After the first sentence that the woman uttered, he knew what was going to happen. After she'd made way, he continued walking. Through and through, without the use of his cane.
And so she continued talking, about him and where he'd been. A shotgun-toting, hardly smooth-talking ... slightly convincing woman. Slightly convincing, when he thought about it. There were moments in her speech when he'd wanted to just say 'Alright, I get it. You busted me,'. To her advantage, though, he saw it through until the end. It was then that he'd almost released a wistful sigh. "Alright," He said. "But I'm pretty sure it's only morally reprehensible if the sighted imitate the blind. Not the other way around. Just so we're clear."
And so he admitted it. There was no point in extending the effort of turning his head to look at her, so his empty gaze just sat forward as he'd walked. He frowned, though, and hesitance grew on him a little bit. "...I don't know if frightening is the word. Street magicians do it all the time, but they're god damned swindlers."
Christopher lacked conviction in his words. What did she expect him to do, start talking about his feelings? No, no. He was happy to accept her own change in subject.
"Work with you?"
And so she continued talking, about him and where he'd been. A shotgun-toting, hardly smooth-talking ... slightly convincing woman. Slightly convincing, when he thought about it. There were moments in her speech when he'd wanted to just say 'Alright, I get it. You busted me,'. To her advantage, though, he saw it through until the end. It was then that he'd almost released a wistful sigh. "Alright," He said. "But I'm pretty sure it's only morally reprehensible if the sighted imitate the blind. Not the other way around. Just so we're clear."
And so he admitted it. There was no point in extending the effort of turning his head to look at her, so his empty gaze just sat forward as he'd walked. He frowned, though, and hesitance grew on him a little bit. "...I don't know if frightening is the word. Street magicians do it all the time, but they're god damned swindlers."
Christopher lacked conviction in his words. What did she expect him to do, start talking about his feelings? No, no. He was happy to accept her own change in subject.
"Work with you?"
God, he'd wanted to dismiss Cerise off as a batshit loon. He wanted to quickly speedwalk away from her, and hope he'd find his wallet still located in his pants when he'd woken up in the morning. He was an introspective man, though, and hell if that wouldn't be his downfall. His slight (but regressing) uncomfortableness with the situation didn't cause him to overlook everything she was saying. God knows he'd show up at the business and see a crystal ball on the table, though. He wasn't much, but he was better than that.
The card was shoved to him. He took it in hand, albeit hesitantly. "Well," He said, "If you want me to be completely honest, I do. If you're trying to rope me into some sort of fortune-telling gig, I've been told I have a fantastic punt when it comes to crystal balls. What do you mean, help others?" He asked.
It was making very little sense, but a scrap was there. Yes, he believed in psychic abilities. This was because he had one. That was never anything he was going to outright tell the woman, though.
Suddenly, he handed the card back to her.
"Giving me an address would be far better," He said. "I can't read, you know."
And so it would probably dawn on the woman that perhaps offering a business card to the blind man wasn't the best route of action.
The card was shoved to him. He took it in hand, albeit hesitantly. "Well," He said, "If you want me to be completely honest, I do. If you're trying to rope me into some sort of fortune-telling gig, I've been told I have a fantastic punt when it comes to crystal balls. What do you mean, help others?" He asked.
It was making very little sense, but a scrap was there. Yes, he believed in psychic abilities. This was because he had one. That was never anything he was going to outright tell the woman, though.
Suddenly, he handed the card back to her.
"Giving me an address would be far better," He said. "I can't read, you know."
And so it would probably dawn on the woman that perhaps offering a business card to the blind man wasn't the best route of action.
"My memory is pretty fair. If I can't find you, I'll just go to the building and ask for the chick toting around a shotgun." Christopher said, with a half-smirk. And suddenly, he seemed comfortable. "...Alright. I'll hear you out. I know where that is; right around the Gardens, right? Off Main? Not the place I would've picked, but hell."
"Not like I'm doing much."
He was stopped by then, and he looked about. "It's probably best I get back, considering the time. I expect you're not going to follow me back?"
I'd shake your hand, but what would I say? Pleasure to be stalked by you, missus.
"Not like I'm doing much."
He was stopped by then, and he looked about. "It's probably best I get back, considering the time. I expect you're not going to follow me back?"
I'd shake your hand, but what would I say? Pleasure to be stalked by you, missus.
The setting changes from wing-city to Gambit's Bar
A quiet sound of plastic against wood resounded against the near-empty Gambit's.
A man walked in, so reserved in his demeanor that he almost snuck in, but lack of confidence was not a factor. He did not tuck his head below his shoulders, or shy away from any person. He walked normally, and the objects that his red and white cane touched, he either maneuvered around or gave a slight push away. This particular man made his way to the bar rather easily, and sat down. His cane was set against the bar and his arms crossed in front of him, as he waited for a robotic attendant to serve him.
There was one thing clearly noticeable about this man - something that most people wouldn't admit to noticing first. He was clearly blind.
A man walked in, so reserved in his demeanor that he almost snuck in, but lack of confidence was not a factor. He did not tuck his head below his shoulders, or shy away from any person. He walked normally, and the objects that his red and white cane touched, he either maneuvered around or gave a slight push away. This particular man made his way to the bar rather easily, and sat down. His cane was set against the bar and his arms crossed in front of him, as he waited for a robotic attendant to serve him.
There was one thing clearly noticeable about this man - something that most people wouldn't admit to noticing first. He was clearly blind.
The man with the opaque glasses and classy, loud floral shirt, quickly ordered a soda when confronted with the metallic attendant who served him. It skittered away to serve the other folks, and Christopher found himself alone once again.
To anyone who could sense it, though it was a very slim chance someone could, the man was absolutely radiated psychic energy. They bounced around like sound waves.
Soon, the man retrieved his soda and began to drink it, his feet idley thunking against the wall of the bar. Drinks rattled on the other side. There was one thing that Christopher had done that might have rung odd, however.
When the bodyguards entered the bar, he rotated his head and tipped an ear toward them. "Who's birthday?" He remarked, with a grin.
To anyone who could sense it, though it was a very slim chance someone could, the man was absolutely radiated psychic energy. They bounced around like sound waves.
Soon, the man retrieved his soda and began to drink it, his feet idley thunking against the wall of the bar. Drinks rattled on the other side. There was one thing that Christopher had done that might have rung odd, however.
When the bodyguards entered the bar, he rotated his head and tipped an ear toward them. "Who's birthday?" He remarked, with a grin.
As Skyrene ventured toward the man, and her voice grew louder, his head tilted in her direction. It was a fair enough signal that she was fine simply talking to him.
"Corporate business venture, office party... head-hunters? My god, is that man the president?" mused Christopher, partly to Skyrene, and partly to himself. "The stampedes I heard when he came in, hm? I'm almost convinced I'm sitting next to Donald Trump, here, as we speak." He gestured to the man sitting a ways away from him, Jacob, with a thumb.
"I'm drinking soda." He flatly remarked, and soon realized his own tactlessness upon making the comment. "But who says you can't drown your woes in fizzy beverages? Though I have to admit, I did only order it to fit in. Don't like carbonateds too much myself. Makes my teeth yellow."
He snickered at his own pass, and gestured to the seat next to him. "I certainly wouldn't mind company."
"Corporate business venture, office party... head-hunters? My god, is that man the president?" mused Christopher, partly to Skyrene, and partly to himself. "The stampedes I heard when he came in, hm? I'm almost convinced I'm sitting next to Donald Trump, here, as we speak." He gestured to the man sitting a ways away from him, Jacob, with a thumb.
"I'm drinking soda." He flatly remarked, and soon realized his own tactlessness upon making the comment. "But who says you can't drown your woes in fizzy beverages? Though I have to admit, I did only order it to fit in. Don't like carbonateds too much myself. Makes my teeth yellow."
He snickered at his own pass, and gestured to the seat next to him. "I certainly wouldn't mind company."
"I suppose you're right." Christopher faltered. What he did next was almost curious; when the dimple appeared on Skyrene's cheek, he suddenly shared the same smile, and carried on. It could have been up to coincidence, however. "Don't worry, I probably won't get too wasted before the drive back."
As he'd done before, he's snickered at his own pass and moved on. "I like the bar for the social atmosphere, in all honesty. Always find someone interesting to talk to. If I want a destressor, I'm perfectly content on channeling to Opera. No need to waste the extra effort coming to this rank dump."
"But their soda is cheap, and the ladies don't usually look too bad, but... - What's that incessant noise?" He asked, grimacing as Gromchal strided into the bar. "Well. The gardens are far more serene, in my opinion."
He hesitated a moment, before speaking again.
"Something caught your attention?"
As he'd done before, he's snickered at his own pass and moved on. "I like the bar for the social atmosphere, in all honesty. Always find someone interesting to talk to. If I want a destressor, I'm perfectly content on channeling to Opera. No need to waste the extra effort coming to this rank dump."
"But their soda is cheap, and the ladies don't usually look too bad, but... - What's that incessant noise?" He asked, grimacing as Gromchal strided into the bar. "Well. The gardens are far more serene, in my opinion."
He hesitated a moment, before speaking again.
"Something caught your attention?"
"Play-boy yonder, huh? I've been trying to guess his identity the moment I heard the Oxford stampede enter. Hell, if that's Hugh Hefner over there, I might take a bite as well. Not like the mooch talking to him isn't doing it for me, though."
Christopher seemed to cringe when Jacob continued talking. They weren't too far away, and scoping out the conversation was hardly hard at all. The only thing the blind man offered up further on the subject was a "By god," before he moved on.
"No matter how much money -" The man's emphasis on the word was almost unusual. "- you throw on a rank dump, it's still a rank dump. It has an attraction, all right. A little bit like a train wreck."
He scoffed, though his expression soon turned itself from sour to a small smirk as the blubbery man entered and proclaimed Gambit's greatness.
"I'm sorry. I'm a little disagreeable. You're good company, you know. Letting me gripe. I'd buy you a drink if you let me."
This all, of course, was to Skyrene.
Christopher seemed to cringe when Jacob continued talking. They weren't too far away, and scoping out the conversation was hardly hard at all. The only thing the blind man offered up further on the subject was a "By god," before he moved on.
"No matter how much money -" The man's emphasis on the word was almost unusual. "- you throw on a rank dump, it's still a rank dump. It has an attraction, all right. A little bit like a train wreck."
He scoffed, though his expression soon turned itself from sour to a small smirk as the blubbery man entered and proclaimed Gambit's greatness.
"I'm sorry. I'm a little disagreeable. You're good company, you know. Letting me gripe. I'd buy you a drink if you let me."
This all, of course, was to Skyrene.
"Oho. There's the ulterior motivation. I didn't even have to pull a Freud for you to admit that one, miss."
Of course, he was referring to Skyrene's statement about 'keeping all eyes on her'. The irony rung clear to him, and Christopher grinned like an incredibly tempered mad man.
"Hey - my stand up comedy is fantastic. Some comedians do have a line between griping and jokes, you know, and calling Gambit's a rank hell was certainly not a joke." He idley reached into his pocket as he talked, and set a ten-bill on the counter. "Order what you like, then."
He reached a hand toward her immediately after setting the bill down, presumably to be shaken. He was on-point with it's location, but that was only to be expected as they'd been talking so long. "Christopher Crutchfield. Call me Christopher, though. Not Chris. I like to think myself classy. If you really like, I don't mind my last name a mite bunch either."
Of course, he was referring to Skyrene's statement about 'keeping all eyes on her'. The irony rung clear to him, and Christopher grinned like an incredibly tempered mad man.
"Hey - my stand up comedy is fantastic. Some comedians do have a line between griping and jokes, you know, and calling Gambit's a rank hell was certainly not a joke." He idley reached into his pocket as he talked, and set a ten-bill on the counter. "Order what you like, then."
He reached a hand toward her immediately after setting the bill down, presumably to be shaken. He was on-point with it's location, but that was only to be expected as they'd been talking so long. "Christopher Crutchfield. Call me Christopher, though. Not Chris. I like to think myself classy. If you really like, I don't mind my last name a mite bunch either."
Christopher's handshake was curt. He nodded, and hardly seemed to react when the woman stepped away to take her call. He patiently waited for her to return to the conversation, his hands making themselves busy by tapping in front of him.
And when she'd done so, he nodded and accepted the money. He was quick to place it on the counter again, and order a soda. "It was a pleasure, then, Skyrene. Perhaps I will buy you a drink at a later date, then. No worries; we all have our things to do."
He raised an open hand and waved to her as she'd gone.
It should be noted that he was still radiating psychic energy, but those who could tell were few and far between. Idley he sat at the bar counter, a hand on the blunt cane. It twirled and twirled.
And when she'd done so, he nodded and accepted the money. He was quick to place it on the counter again, and order a soda. "It was a pleasure, then, Skyrene. Perhaps I will buy you a drink at a later date, then. No worries; we all have our things to do."
He raised an open hand and waved to her as she'd gone.
It should be noted that he was still radiating psychic energy, but those who could tell were few and far between. Idley he sat at the bar counter, a hand on the blunt cane. It twirled and twirled.
Christopher hadn't noted the trash-covered Saya. Gambit's usual smell had covered hers fairly enough, and, well, he was blind.
That said, he had not noticed the woman's death stare.
That said, he had not noticed the woman's death stare.
Christopher quickly acted surprised by the woman who'd approached him. "I'm not deaf, you know. And I do believe in personal space."
He raised his hand, and it quickly met Saya's face.
"Wait, I don't suppose you're one of my cousins? What do you want me to quit out, even? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
He quickly scooted sideward from the overly abrasive Saya. God, did she smell rank.
He raised his hand, and it quickly met Saya's face.
"Wait, I don't suppose you're one of my cousins? What do you want me to quit out, even? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
He quickly scooted sideward from the overly abrasive Saya. God, did she smell rank.
There was no noticeable awe in Saya lengthening her teeth. This was because, assumably, Christopher could not see them. "Yes," He said. "It's not the talking dogs, or the loud fat men, the snobby billionaires, the loud, thunderous whatever-it-is that crashed through the bar. It's not the beer or the stench, that causes your migraines. It's the psychic signals. You come to an obviously supernatural bar, and you complain about getting headaches from psychic signals?"
He seemed to breathe something of a wistful sigh, and stand up. He grabbed the cane that harmlessly rested on his stool, and simply walked away from Saya. It was obvious that the woman was insane and unreasonable in herself.
It seemed time for him to ring out anyhow. The blind man left the bills for his drinks on the bartop, and soon made his way out the door.
He seemed to breathe something of a wistful sigh, and stand up. He grabbed the cane that harmlessly rested on his stool, and simply walked away from Saya. It was obvious that the woman was insane and unreasonable in herself.
It seemed time for him to ring out anyhow. The blind man left the bills for his drinks on the bartop, and soon made his way out the door.
The sound of plastic against polished wood would quietly arise near the doorway, as Christopher Crutchfield had entered. He pushed the door open, and slid in, much like any other man.
But he wasn't any other man. There was one thing about him that most wouldn't, in good conscience, admit to noticing first. He wore the apparel of a blind man; a red and white cane swept across the floor as he walked, and eyes that hadn't moved or stirred sat behind an opaque pair of glasses. It didn't hinder him, however, and he soon found his way to the bar.
And he sat down in a red stool, his cane then propped up against the half-wall of the bar. His hands seemed to lace together in front of him as he'd relayed an order to a robotic servant and dully waited.
But he wasn't any other man. There was one thing about him that most wouldn't, in good conscience, admit to noticing first. He wore the apparel of a blind man; a red and white cane swept across the floor as he walked, and eyes that hadn't moved or stirred sat behind an opaque pair of glasses. It didn't hinder him, however, and he soon found his way to the bar.
And he sat down in a red stool, his cane then propped up against the half-wall of the bar. His hands seemed to lace together in front of him as he'd relayed an order to a robotic servant and dully waited.
"You hate stupidity, and you're coming here? Isn't that... Whaddaya they call it? An oxymoron? Sounds a little masochistic to me, buddy." remarked Crutchfield, loud enough to where he wouldn't have to put forth the effort of turning his head to talk toward the hatted man. It was a bit of a snide comment, though more directed at the bar than any of the occupants in it.
His drink arrived, and he took the carbonated beverage in hand. Gambit's was no fun when he'd not anyone to banter with.
His drink arrived, and he took the carbonated beverage in hand. Gambit's was no fun when he'd not anyone to banter with.
Crutchfield had left his seat to venture along the bar, his change in hand. His hand slid across the countertop, only stopping when he'd found the place that the tip jar was usually in. His hand hovered over it, and when he'd gone to drop the change in...
It was gone. The change clattered on top of the bar counter, leaving Christopher a very confused man. Only then would he hear the ruckus and clatter that happened behind the bar, and it could only be assumed the jar had fallen.
Which was fine.
He was intent on rolling it to the end, where he'd pick it up and put it back in it's place. It was a long bout of effort to go through for a jar of change, but hell, he'd probably knocked it over himself. With the cane he bore, Christopher Crutchfield reached an arm over and stabbed at the ground opposite the side he was on.
It had to be somewhere.
It was gone. The change clattered on top of the bar counter, leaving Christopher a very confused man. Only then would he hear the ruckus and clatter that happened behind the bar, and it could only be assumed the jar had fallen.
Which was fine.
He was intent on rolling it to the end, where he'd pick it up and put it back in it's place. It was a long bout of effort to go through for a jar of change, but hell, he'd probably knocked it over himself. With the cane he bore, Christopher Crutchfield reached an arm over and stabbed at the ground opposite the side he was on.
It had to be somewhere.
And it clicked. It was of no fault of his own that the tip jar disappeared. Not after that yelp. "Oh, shit," Christopher said, stifling a laugh of his own. "Someone down there...? Could at least put the jar back, guy. I can't reach that far."
It occurred to him that it probably hadn't been worth the effort. He placed his hands on the counter and pushed backwards, blowing out a sort of wistful sigh. It came to him that it wasn't worth caring about depositing his own change. Though it nagged at him; did he cane-block a petty thief, or the staff on board?
"Know what? Nevermind. You... Keep doing what you're doing. I don't think I can even try to care enough."
Regardless of his words, Crutchfield abruptly sat down in the stool that'd been in front of the jar and waited to see if anything had happened, his head in his hands.
It occurred to him that it probably hadn't been worth the effort. He placed his hands on the counter and pushed backwards, blowing out a sort of wistful sigh. It came to him that it wasn't worth caring about depositing his own change. Though it nagged at him; did he cane-block a petty thief, or the staff on board?
"Know what? Nevermind. You... Keep doing what you're doing. I don't think I can even try to care enough."
Regardless of his words, Crutchfield abruptly sat down in the stool that'd been in front of the jar and waited to see if anything had happened, his head in his hands.
Christopher grinned. "Kid, I don't even know if anyone actually works here. It's not my job to be the one to catch you, anyway. If these guys had any semblance of security, then they might not get robberies as much."
He collected the change he formerly meant to place into the jar, and shoved it into a pocket. "While you're back there, though, you mind getting me a ..." The blind man seemed to falter for a moment before speaking again. "Just a soda. Since everything's on the house."
"What's your name, anyway?"
He collected the change he formerly meant to place into the jar, and shoved it into a pocket. "While you're back there, though, you mind getting me a ..." The blind man seemed to falter for a moment before speaking again. "Just a soda. Since everything's on the house."
"What's your name, anyway?"
Christopher retrieved the soda fairly easily, and with a fsss, the top had been cracked open. He sipped in between pauses as he talked to Adrian. "Nice to meet you, Adrian. Christopher Crutchfield, myself. Christopher or Crutchfield'll work, but I don't like Chris."
"You always shoplift from bars? I mean... Hell, if I had to shoplift anywhere, it wouldn't be a bar. Not much you can do with in terms of tequila, whiskey, and water, and the folks here probably aren't too keen on tipping the robots."
"You always shoplift from bars? I mean... Hell, if I had to shoplift anywhere, it wouldn't be a bar. Not much you can do with in terms of tequila, whiskey, and water, and the folks here probably aren't too keen on tipping the robots."
"Fair enough. Nothing quite like drowning out the sorrows of adolescence as getting plastered off their pre-teen asses, huh? When I was younger, I sold pokemon cards and water balloons, made myself a nifty buck." Christopher said, an unintentional air of sass in his voice. It was when Adrian muttered 'that's my own business' that he seemed to tilt his head in the kid's direction.
"Invisible?" He asked.
For obvious reasons.
"Invisible?" He asked.
For obvious reasons.
"Hell, it's better than sitting at the bar and sipping soda by my lonesome, like I'm waiting for my mum to pick me up." Christopher's head sat in the cup of his hand as he spoke. "I guess I figured they weren't paying attention 'cause you were crawling around on the floor, anyway. When you're here, that's just a little bit worse than dumpster diving."
"Hey, how old are you, anyway? Thirteen?" he asked.
"Hey, how old are you, anyway? Thirteen?" he asked.
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