[b]New York, United States, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:20PM GMT, 4:20PM EST[/b] The later part of the day left the dockyard sluggish and quiet, the morning fuel burned in the crew that went about organizing its load for the next batch of ships arriving to be unloaded the next day. One container swung about on a crane, the operator slumping in his seat as he was forced to watch it swing like a pendulum before letting it settle, dropping it down properly. The innards too ticked, machinery laying dormant as a clock struck downwards, hands looming for the end of the hour. --- At the end of her day, Tatyanna moored about the city proper, bumming about the shopping districts without much will to even spend. Window shopping was more or less her pass time. She enjoyed seeing folks mulling about, she enjoyed all the kinds of stores there were, though she had to admit she also enjoyed not having to be bothered by her mother, the aging widow being supported by her daughter in necessity. Tat certainly loved her but the requests and demands got old, so Tat spent her time literally anywhere else. Slipping into a sporting goods shop, she was greeted with a smile before taking a look at all the gear. Seeing a white racing jumpsuit advertised, the thing having been here for ages, she felt a bit of a drag on her spirit. The other day she’d used her powers for the first time in a long time, and on purpose at that. She was glad for that but it hadn’t exactly gone with gratification either. And maybe that was for the best: Tatyanna wasn’t quite sure about her power becoming more well known. She’s heard rumors that strange things exists in this world, but being one of them? At least not openly. Her face twitched with amusement as she realized her mother might like that if it meant finding a suitor… [b]Marielle, France, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:10 GMT, 9:10 CET[/b] Pulling open the trunk and hoisting out a small jug of oil, Greg stopped, lingering on a strange, round protrusion from underneath a tarp. Auburn eyebrow upturned, he reached for it, sliding out the base of a baseball bat. A wave of nostalgia came over him, suddenly gripped by memories of his last obsession. Hours upon hours over the course of days trying to practice baseball. He’d so dearly wanted to show that even having not been active once in high school, he could still make it professionally. So dearly wanted to show what he could do on his own. But he hadn’t even made it past the preliminary phase of the tryouts, and his bat had remained here ever since. Nostalgia become disappointment, he slammed the trunk of his car down, moving along. Stance awkward as he was sure to keep the oil well away from his dress shirt, he refilled his car, mind full of considerations. Passions he’d once had that had fled him. Baseball then, superheroes now? He was en route to a training session he’d schedule himself, this late hour the only time it was really possible, yet despite going through all the hoops, here he was, managing his oil to allow himself an excuse to be late, the idea of arriving for more publicity training weighing him down. Bottle emptied, he rescrewed the cap before looking to a nearby trash can, tossing it. The jug hit the rim and bounced away, knocking to the ground. Hand running through is short hair in exasperation, he retrieved the container and chucked it properly before storming back to his car, closing the hood up before moving on, that failed through still pounding through his mind, one of many little things he couldn’t seem to stop from flitting about in his mind.