[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/CRRKZxi.png[/img][/center]
[color=00aeef][center]Allen Street, New York City.[/center]
[center]7.21 PM.[/center][/color]

Hauling the duffel bag up a set of creaking stairs, Casper let out a soft sigh as the scent of newly cooked stew caressed his senses. Evening time, the day had came and passed quite uneventfully but landed in a comfortable zone of house and hearth. Slipping out of his canvas shoes, Casper's attention perked at the sudden voice greeting his arrival, though like every day, it was an expected addition to the scene. "How did your match go, sweetie?" Aunt Claire spoke, her soothing and motherly voice echoing through the small home Casper had come to know throughout the years.

[color=00aeef]"Went well."[/color] The boy returned, a soft yawn escaping his lips as he finally passed the threshold of the living quarters and shut the door behind him. Rather old fashioned indeed, their home had been built into the bookstore and labored to save them some money in the long run. Living and working in the same location had its perks. As for the work itself, it would be unfair to claim that business had been suffering but one couldn't praise it for being a winning concept, not anymore. Most customers were of the older kind, people not quite used to the internet, or interested in what the vast web had to offer. The confines of a book was safer, more familiar. It was specialized and you never had to worry about going off track. 

"Dinner's almost done." Aunt Claire continued, reaching her hand towards Casper to ruffle the boy's thick hair as he approached. Correcting the action with a soft frown, he attempted to save what was left of his hairstyle but conceded to shaking his head enough to make the strands fall naturally as they would, which would proceed to have them covering his eyes. "Honey, don't you think it's time for a haircut?" 

[color=00aeef]"No."[/color] Casper's statement was final. Despite the nuisance longer hair came with, he was dead set on laboring through it. Gripping the duffel bag tighter, Casper continued through the kitchen, into the living room and then past the small hall connecting the bathroom to his room, finding home within the latter. Dropping the bag to the floor, Casper breathed out a long, heavy sigh of relief and peeled off the sweater he had been wearing since morning. As if a reflexive action, a routine, his left hand reached to turn the computer on only moments before he dropped down to the bed situated next to the stationary device. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Casper nearly drifted off as fatigue claimed him like an iron fist, though was pulled back to attention at the sound of a vibrating phone buzzing through his pocket. 

Rubbing his eyes, the boy brought his hand to the pocket of his cargo pants and produced the iPhone, an older version, and glossed over the text. 

[i]"Dude, great job today! We'll so win finals!"[/i] - Sara.

Sent at 7.30 PM, Casper's acquaintance was the sort who found it not only exhilarating but also a critical part of the game to constantly rave on about the most recent match their group had been part of. Airsofting, it was a fun sport, one of much controversy and reputation but at the end of the day, it was both fun and a learning experience. If one was to sell off the sport as a decent time spender, one would inform that it encouraged and developed team play. It would proceed to enhance your reflexes and not least, your accuracy. Reaction time is something highly valued within the airsoft community and is another skill people would come to know if they ever joined the sport. Understandably, parents didn't always find it a palatable substitute to the more mainstream activities like that of soccer or baseball, given the firearms involved, hence the controversy. Aunt Claire had not been too thrilled at first, either. Though when she learned that Casper was doing well within the activity, she would come to change her mind. 

Everyone had their position, their role. Like in any team based video game, a group was comprised of assault units and support units. Casper found himself most at home in the latter, preferring a long distance approach to the enemy team behind the safety of a scope. 

[i][color=00aeef]"Thanks, yeah."[/color][/i] Casper typed into the phone, his slender fingers dancing across the screen to managed the words before sending it back to the initial point of contact. With another yawn, Casper dropped the phone onto his bed and slipped out of the remainder of his clothes for a quick shower. As if on queue, Aunt Claire called on him for dinner soon after and a warm meal hit the spot like a bull's eye. 

"Casper, could you try to call Kyle?" Aunt Claire spoke, fiddling with her phone as they ate. "I can't seem to reach him."

[color=00aeef]"He's probably just busy."[/color] Casper offered somewhat disinterested, his focus mainly on filling his empty stomach.

"He told me he'd call after reaching Seattle. It's long overdue." Kyle was a friend of the family, so to speak. Aunt Claire and him had been getting to know each other over the past few months and safe was it to say that the two were hitting it off. 

[color=00aeef]"Stop worrying."[/color] The boy finished, bringing his bowl to the sink before turning the water on. [color=00aeef]"He's in Seattle, not a war zone."[/color]

"Mm, I guess I just jump to the worst possible outcomes. Mother hen and all that." Claire chuckled, joining Casper by the sink to wash the dishes. 

As the chores came to an end, Casper reentered his room and noticed how another text had been sent to him. Almost reluctantly, not wanting to hear more about today's match, he reached for the phone and gazed upon the screen. The viral video he was met with was not about the match. Not at all. With wide eyes, Casper immediately came to a conclusion about an earlier statement. He was wrong.