Don't even bother || Atticus

[Marceline J. Chambers]

|words;; 600-ish || outfits;; Outfit || Song used;; N/A || notes;; >:3 |

Some people were born independent- never needing to lean on others, carrying their heads high and kicking ass as they grace the earth with their presence. Sure, usually people like that are douchebags or always had some un-redeeming quality that would make them so... undesirable. She envied people like that. While others were born with that trait, she spent most of her life building to that point. Or climbing, some would say.

Marcy often was told, asking for help wasn't a bad thing, that a person can only be dependent-free for so long- and it was all true. But honestly, even then, do you think she'll bring herself to ask for it?

It was a usual, warm afternoon. Few puffy, white clouds floated along in this casual afternoon; skies were blue and the streets were quiet, since it was lunch time after all. And like everyone else, she had a little date for this nice afternoon.

Her and her moving boxes- what else? She managed to wiggle a little more time to herself, and of course, spent it by moving the last and heaviest of her things. Though, she did have her pager on hand, just in case. But so far this morning, it hasn't gone off.

She didn't know whether to be happy for that fact... or groan because there nothing pushing her back from doing this.

"Why did I pick the second floor again?" She ran her fingers through her messy, red hair, and glared at the taunting steps in fornt of her. Maybe she should blame the fact for her pack-rat ways? Afterall, she somehow managed the impossible and pack all her things in so few boxes- but now... with her skinny arms, and the absents of movers helping... well, move the boxes, these things would be the death of her. At the top of the steps and a little ways down, there was her apartment and two boxes blocking the front of it. Only Lord knows how she manage to get to up there- but by the way her hair slightly clung on to her forehead, no way it was effortless.

I should be inside... could be watching some trashy, noon drama right... maybe have a bowl of cereal or maybe finished that pizza from last night. But her muscles ached, and frankly, she felt pretty comfortable perched on top of her last and by far, largest box she had. Scrawled on top of it in cursive, 'doctor' handwriting: 'Books & stuff'- AKA, Ms. Sahara's book. While yes, she did bring along one already- that wasn't the last of it. If she remember correctly, the books were big and bulky, and honestly useless to her. She didn't know Arabic or Latin, and other than a memory of the old lady, she didn't have any real need of the books.

But.... there was something to them that made her feel almost attached- not because they belonged to her old friend, but something more to that.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, before sighing- she seriously need to get a move on though. "Okay... I can do this. Just... focus, Marcy." But no amount of encouragement from herself going to move this thing. She slumped against the box, and draped across it. "God... if your there, please kill me now."

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[atticus killian innominata]

Today, so far had been a really nice day. The brilliant, radiant sun had made an appearance and bathed the city of Northvale with a light warmth which was balanced out pleasantly with a gentle breeze. Atticus had had the day off and making use of the weather he had spent the better part of his day with his babies; his motorbikes, of course.

In the morning with his black motorbike jacket and helmet tucked under his arm, Atticus went down to one of his garages and did some minor work on his Ducati Monster M900. Nothing too much of big deal, he had just been meaning to deal with the rust on the bike’s gold frame for a while now, plus he wanted to spray paint the frame red- which, looked much better than the gold in his opinion. So, with the radio playing in the background, Atticus propped the bike up using one of his stands, took his wire brush drill bit and used it to grind the rusted areas down to clean metal. Once he got rid of the rust on the frame he tightly covered the areas of the right side of his bike that he didn’t want to be ruined by the spray paint before he carefully applied the first coat of the traditional red oxide metal primer. Another ten minutes later, he applied the second coating followed by the third a further ten minutes after that. Then, eventually he applied the final coat, spraying the frame with a red paint named ‘Torch Red’ that matched the Ducati red perfectly and with the bits the spray paint couldn’t reach, he hand painted with a brush.

In all that took about four hours- maybe a little longer but when he stood back to look at it…damn it looked good. Far better than it had looked before. Now, he just had to do the other side but, Atticus decided to save that for tomorrow and let the right side of the bike’s frame dry properly. He felt like he had been productive today and it was a small job that hejust got lost in entirely. His wolf didn’t make an appearance at all and in fact, it was kind of relaxing in its own way.
Ever since he had sold his Ducati Diavel, the Monster was in one of his garages by itself and after closing that garage for the day feeling somewhat proud at how the minor paint job had gone, he opened up his other garage and was greeted by the beautiful sight of his green Kawasaki ZZR 1400 and Triumph Bonneville T100. The weather was perfect for taking one of these babies out and so, after putting on his black motorbike jacket and helmet for ‘safety precautions’ he walked the gorgeous Kawasaki out of the garage and balanced it on its stand for a moment whilst he closed and locked the garage up. Then, he climbed onto the beautiful machine and started the engine. The roar it gave out as it awoke and as he revved the engine seemed to get even his inner wolf slightly excited with anticipation.

Atticus slowly drove his bike onto the main road and stayed at the legal pace that personally felt too slow for him on the machine he was on. He winded between cars on the roads of Northvale city, speeding up to forty miles per hour as he left the main city area until finally when he hit the open country road he climbed in speed, until he was at a stable yet very fast speed of one hundred and fifty miles per hour.
Words could not describe how exhilarating going for a casual, fun, ride on a fast bike felt on such a good weathered day. At such speed, his blood was pumping and he felt a different kind of freedom. So much so he just couldn’t stop the thrilled howl that escaped his lips.
Some could question whether it was quite as good as letting go in your wolf form but Atticus felt that was too much of an unfair comparison. They were too different. His werewolf side obviously preferred being let loose, but his human side loved this.

It was a good two hours before he returned to the city, slowing in speed again until he reached his garage and came to stop, once again balancing his bike on its stand for a moment to reopen the garage. The werewolf’s adrenaline was still pumping as pulled off his helmet- revealing the smile that played on the corners of his lips- and he placed his helmet on the side shelf for the time being so he could return his baby back to the spot where it belonged beside the Bonneville. God he seriously fucking loved his bikes. And you know what? The time Atticus spent today with them put him in an amazing mood that he doubted anyone could kill for the next couple of hours.

After having returned the Kawasaki, Atticus took off his jacket and cleared up the garage a bit. Then, mid-afternoon with his helmet tucked under his arm again (this time without his jacket because he decided to leave it in his garage) he finally began to make his way back over to his apartment block in high spirits.
Upon opening the door to his block, he was greeted by the sound of a familiar feminine voice “God…if your there, please kill me now.” Instantly his lips twitched up into an amused grin when he recognised why the voice sounded so familiar. Dr Marceline Chambers. Or, as she offered as an alternative; Marcy. A new colleague of his at the hospital.
He had spoken to her before but only briefly really. Atticus was one of the people at the hospital that tried to make her feel welcome but other than that and knowing what he could pick up by her scent…he didn’t really know her but, it looked like they were now neighbours as well as colleagues.

The fiery haired doctor sat on a brown box at the bottom of the stairs, looking as frustrated as her scent suggested and after securing his helmet under his arm, the Innominata approached her.
“Hey Doc” Atticus offered her a small friendly smile.
“So you’re the one moving into apartment 2C, huh?” He asked casually.
Atticus then cocked his head to the side a little, looking at the box she was sitting on again. It was large and looked really rather packed, was it heavy? Well, it was a bit weird that she was just sitting there on a box at the bottom of the stairs. Atticus looked at Marcy again, she was quite small, only human and no offense to her what-so-ever but she didn’t looked particularly strong. If it was heavy, the woman might struggle to carry it up the flight of stairs by herself. Was that why she was so frustrated? Was she struggling with getting the box up the stairs? Well. That wasn’t on now, was it?
“Need a hand with that?” He offered, nodding at the box.

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✜Tagged: Marcy!
✜Words: 1,190
✜Notes: :3
✜Song Credit: "Survival" by Muse
Coding by Toffoes~

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