It isn't the first time he's gotten a call out of the blue from an advertising firm, not even the first time it's a firm in a different city. It's good timing, he's just finished off place cards for a wedding and nothing else needs to be started for two weeks, so he hops on a train—he always takes the train when he can, flying is…still a little weird, even after this long—and it's a long trip but a quiet one, the best kind. He gets some work done, a few example pieces for this new client. Even as bumpy as the train gets, each pen stroke is flawless, but why not? He might as well use what he can do, as well as he can do it. It isn't like they'll know he lettered all of this on the train, right?
Pen heads up the stairs with the crowd and out the front doors at Union Station and takes a few moments to get his bearings back. It's been a while since he's been to Chicago, somehow he just hadn't gotten back here since…is it the 60s, really? But New York is hard to leave sometimes, it's one of the things he likes about it, that weird sense of permanent impermanence. It changes all the time, but something fundamental stays the same, and now he's romanticizing the city he lives in instead of walking to the Metro or getting a cab. Good, Pen, great start. Feel the dedication.
He's still early to RGM, portfolio in hand, and he's pointed upstairs, and then he's pointed along the floor until he finally pokes his head in the door marked 'Connor.'
"Hey. Are you, you're Connor? I'm, ah, I'm Pen Gregory, I think we have a meeting. Soon. Not yet. I'm early, sorry, I can wait out here…" He glances over his shoulder at the bullpen, assorted couches, nothing much like a waiting room. "…somewhere."
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Pen heads up the stairs with the crowd and out the front doors at Union Station and takes a few moments to get his bearings back. It's been a while since he's been to Chicago, somehow he just hadn't gotten back here since…is it the 60s, really? But New York is hard to leave sometimes, it's one of the things he likes about it, that weird sense of permanent impermanence. It changes all the time, but something fundamental stays the same, and now he's romanticizing the city he lives in instead of walking to the Metro or getting a cab. Good, Pen, great start. Feel the dedication.
He's still early to RGM, portfolio in hand, and he's pointed upstairs, and then he's pointed along the floor until he finally pokes his head in the door marked 'Connor.'
"Hey. Are you, you're Connor? I'm, ah, I'm Pen Gregory, I think we have a meeting. Soon. Not yet. I'm early, sorry, I can wait out here…" He glances over his shoulder at the bullpen, assorted couches, nothing much like a waiting room. "…somewhere."