[center][color=fff79a][h3]JULIAN BARCLAY[/h3][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/3JbrVFD.jpg[/img]
[color=fff79a]Location:[/color] Diner -> Watchtower 
[color=fff79a]Interacting with:[/color] Aoife -> Cal Graham ([@smarty0114])
[hr][/center]

[b][color=fff79a]J[/color][/b]ulian sat in the booth, donning a dark baseball cap that sheltered most of his hair. To match, he wore a black hoodie with a grey t-shirt underneath, and a pair of thick, equally black shades hung from the top of his t-shirt by a temple. It was an unusually low-profile outfit for such an outgoing individual, usually relishing in the attention given to him by the media and public alike. Flicking his eyes around the small diner, that he certainly seen better days, there was not much motion. The lone waitress stood idly behind the counter, picking at her pink-nails, whilst the chef, visible through a hole in the wall behind the waitress, appeared to be watching something on his phone. Only the sound of cutlery occasionally scratching against plates could be heard, alongside the muffled whispers of conversation. Across from Julian sat a young redhead, nursing a cup of coffee in both hands, blowing at it gently. Dressed in a slick, black-grey dress, she stood out like a sore thumb. 
	[color=fff79a]“You know – when you said we should stop going to our usual spots for lunch, if I’d known you meant this, I’d have stayed at the office.”[/color] Julian made no attempt to hide his wry smile, and despite his attempts to convey confidence through humour, his omission of the watchtower in favour of a vague ‘office’ spoke volumes. Ever since the attack, he had hidden himself within the watchtower, and when outside, he made every effort to conceal his identity. Only a week ago, he would have paraded through the streets in his costume, proud to receive the attention so freely afforded to him by the adoring masses. They weren’t adoring any more.
	[color=fdc68a]“It’s out of the way. Quiet. I think it’s charming.”[/color] Resting her cup on the table, pushing it away ever so slightly as she took the opportunity to bring up the topic on her mind, she quickly darted her eyes across their booth ensuring there were no unwanted listeners before continuing in a lower tone, [color=fdc68a]“I [i]told[/i] you, Julian. I told you. This was never going to work, and I tried, really, I did. You know I did. I wanted it to work, for you. I didn’t like it, but I wanted it to work…”[/color] Pausing for a soft sigh, she pursed her lips empathetically, [color=fdc68a]“It’s time to leave them. That group. [i]Please[/i], before this gets any worse.”[/color]

[b][color=fff79a]J[/color][/b]ulian could not help but break eye contact. He was never any good at these conversations, and avoided them where possible. He knew she was right, she was always right. Yet he couldn’t agree, he was the Coalition. That group of freaks, of empowered beings, of superheroes, whatever they were called now. They were his purpose, and he’d gone without that for far too long to give it up when he finally had it. [color=fff79a]“Aoife – I can’t leave. You know why.”[/color] Looking back towards the woman sat opposite him, it pained him to disagree. He knew the hurt he was putting her through by continuing to work as a member of the Coalition, the worry, the anxiety. “…but things are going to get better. When we catch this guy – when we beat him. Then everything will be back to norm- actually, not normal, hard to be normal when you’re a superhero, huh?” 
	Aoife groaned, rolling her eyes slightly as she pleaded with him, [color=fdc68a]“You don’t need to be that. Why can’t you just be my husband? These people don’t need you – there’s other people like you out there, but I do. I need you. We came here together, and I-”[/color] Cutting herself off for a moment, she had always consciously avoided the subject of death, and instead said simply, [color=fdc68a]“This isn’t the life I thought we would have. Just tell me you’ll think about it.”[/color] Reaching her arms across the table, she took his hands in her own tightly.
	[color=fff79a]“I’ll think about it. I mean that.”[/color] Offering a sympathetic smile toward her, he gave her hands a parting squeeze before rising from the seat, [color=fdc68a]“Keep in touch?”[/color] Nodding silently, he laid a hand on the back of her head, pulling her in gently for a hug. [color=fff79a]“I love you.”[/color] Kissing the top of her head after a few seconds, he broke away and headed for the Watchtower.
[hr]
[b][color=fff79a]D[/color][/b]igging his hands into his pockets, he kept to himself as he made his way toward the building and despite his getup, Julian could not ignore his growing anxiety at being spotted. He found it got worse the longer he was outdoors, and it was something he had never experienced before. Why was he scared to be seen? He didn’t even quite know himself – he’d rationalised the situation in his head countless times, gone over how he’d react if it was a fan who approached him, or a new critic. Yet each time he took a step outside, he felt the same tension in his chest, the same quickening of his breath, the same rise in his heartbeat.  Shaking his head slightly, a physical effort to dispel the thoughts from his mind, he tried his best to force his thoughts onto another subject.

[b][color=fff79a]H[/color][/b]e knew Nathaniel was giving his press conference today. He made a point not to watch it. Julian knew what questions they would be throwing at Stroud – [i]Are you working with this new enhanced? Are you able to stop him? How much more death are you going to bring?[/i] – and he’d decided he would rather not have to contemplate them. Not now, at any rate.  

[b][color=fff79a]Q[/color][/b]uickening his walk as he reached the entrance of the Watchtower, he hoped to avoid the journalists and other photographers who seemed to always be present outside the building. Thankfully, it seemed rather quiet. Most eyes were likely on the aftermath of the press conference, to his luck. Making his way through the entrance, Julian removed the cap from his head and ran a hand through his hair, sorting it roughly. Stuffing the cap into his pocket he made for the elevator and rose several floors to find some privacy.

[b][color=fff79a]D[/color][/b]eciding to stop off at the room Julian had claimed as his own, he took a seat at his desk and opened the laptop. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, but as per usual, the curiosity had gotten the better of him. Searching through the internet with entries such as ‘coalition secretly evil’, ‘coalition conspiracy’, and ‘coalition press conference’, Julian found himself going through several hours worth of material before falling asleep at the desk.

[i][b]Bzzd. Bzzd. Bzzd.[/b][/i]

[b][color=fff79a]U[/color][/b]nwillingly opening his eyes, his phone vibrated loudly on the table. His intent to keep in touch with his wife, having increasingly kept to himself after the attack, had already been broken. Opting not to answer the phone call, but instead send an apologetic text to his wife, promising to be home that night, he returned his phone to the desk and rose from the chair, stretching his back. Making his way out of the room, he headed for the common area, desperate for a coffee to ease his rude awakening. To his luck, he spotted Cal with what he assumed to be a fresh pot.

[color=fff79a]“Hope some of that’s going around, pal. Mind if I grab a cup?”[/color]