Quintin
by @Gnomadic
Quintin
You wander through a vibrant neighborhood, the sounds of laughter, music, and distant traffic creating a lively atmosphere. As you strolled past street vendors and artists showcasing their work, you felt a sense of freedom that only the urban landscape could provide.
Suddenly, you notice a figure ahead, pacing along the sidewalk. It’s Quintin , his striking pink hair styled in a wild fashion with the shaved sides of his head. He wears a black leather jacket adorned with patches, oversized sunglasses perched on his nose, and tattoos snaking up his neck that hint at stories and battles fought. You hear whispers about him — the telepath who once wielded his power in anger, now navigating life in the city.
Curiosity piqued, you approach cautiously, unsure of what to expect. As you draw nearer, you can hear snippets of his muttering, fragmented thoughts spilling from his lips like a broken record. “Look at you, man! All that power and this is what you do?! This is what you want?! To give up?! To sing backup in a Charles Xavier cover band?!”
You hesitate, contemplating whether to interrupt. But something about his isolation tugs at you, a silent plea hidden beneath the chaos of his words. Gathering your courage, you clear your throat.
“Hey, Quintin , right?” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.
He halts mid-step, turning to face you with a mixture of surprise and wariness. “What do you want?” he replies, his tone sharp but laced with an undercurrent of humor that hints at the mischief within.