The rest of Cricket’s morning was frustratingly eventful. Given his relative immunity to radiation and physical bulk, he was called to help handle some of the more dangerous areas of clean up. Not to mention the damn reporters. He managed to dodge direct interviews but some persistent reporters pushed their way up enough to get a few questions in. Cricket put on his super hero face for them but, in reality, he just wanted to go take a nap at the station.

Ironically, Cricket did end up seeing his firefighter colleagues while he was helping out. Not that he had the chance to help them directly. The places he was going were usually too dangerous for any sort of civilian. Still, it was nice to see them, even if they did not recognize him.

By noon, things had mostly calmed down. There was, of course, still a little clean up left. Most of it could be handled by professionals. That left Cricket with little more to do than check in with his manager (and agent), Jenna Falcone. He hardly listened to her usual debriefing spiel. Cricket’s mind was far too full of the events that had transpired that morning. All of it felt off in a way he could not quite describe–

Which reminded Cricket to ask about an interview with that cute– that reporter. With a little bit of persistence, Falcone was convinced to let him go. Cricket guessed she was just happy to see him excited about interacting with the public. He pretended that was his reasoning too. It made it easier than whatever the fuck his brain wanted to do.

With the bureaucratic bullshit out of the way, Cricket’s stomach rumbled. It was almost one in the afternoon and all Cricket had consumed was protein shakes. Once he was finished with his chat with Falcone, he transformed back and scuttled off to grab his bag, the one he had set down before his initial transformation. Another stomach rumble. Fine, fine. He’d go get lunch. [color=#ed6885][i]One day,[/i][/color] he swore to himself, [color=#ed6885][i]I will be one of those people that does food prep every week.[/i][/color] Cricket was very good at lying to himself.

Chekos Tacos was a decent enough restaurant… and admittedly a guilty pleasure of Cricket’s. The food was not great but it was enough to fill him. When he first started to make a livable wage with the DNCC, he pigged out on burritos there several times. Now he had the self control to at least get something he could pretend was healthy.

Cricket ran through his order in his head several times before even entering the restaurant. In and out. Order, get food, go to the station, maybe sneak a nap in on MacCloud’s couch. That old fart was a sucker for Cricket’s company. Cricket pushed through the door with a hard look on his face. He was entirely focused on this order, to the point that he almost had not noticed that same reporter standing in line.

Well. Fuck.

The order was immediately dashed from Cricket’s mind. He did his best to play normal. This man had no idea who Cricket was. There was no way he could guess who Cricket was… But some part of Cricket wanted to spark conversation.

[color=#ed6885][i]No, Cricket. Be normal for once in your fucking life. Just get your food and move on.[/i][/color]