Gods in human flesh. His features were balanced and symmetrical, hooded eyes concealing the mess of silvery blue. Akiva looked at his ashy brown hair as it was slightly disheveled, but the intention of it being cut in a neat line was easy to infer...
This chapter is just a little longer than the last couple because I didn't want to rush anything. Reference photos are simple and are posted here at the top <3 kiss kiss
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
-----------------
Akiva had decided to go out for the day.
They didn't have any sort of direction—the eternals. They had destroyed the big bad threat, the major villain, to their narrative. For the moment, they didn't have any controversy to diminish or problems that called out to them for their help. They weren't like the avengers, who came running to any beck and call whenever they were asked because it was oh—so—heroic. They didn't have a speed dial, or a need for a group of talented individuals to connect and accomplish so much more. The avengers went on missions for the government, and didn't necessarily have time to put aside for normal life.
Now the Guardians of the Galaxy? That was something of an idea that they could take and run with. Akiva overheard Phastos talking about the possibility of there being more eternals out there, one's that needed to be rescued from their brainwashing.
But for now, Ajak wasn't here to tell them to board the Domo and take to the stars. The eternals were thrown into intermission, and she was going to make the most of her first visit to the United States.
She passed Makkari, who was sound asleep tucked away on the couch, and went out the door. She couldn't remember a time that she had seen another one of the eternals actually doing something as human as sleeping, but she still thought it was cute with the way she had curled up under a mess of blankets.
Starting down the sidewalk, she pulled her hair out from her black turtleneck. Akiva settled with the idea of sunburnt orange and black being her colours, even if it was a bit awkward to pair. She looked like Halloween had thrown up all over her.
The air was cold against her nose, kissing her terracotta skin. It pricked at the freckles on her face, churning around her cheekbones. But the cold didn't hurt, not like it used to. She didn't have any desire to hurry back inside, or wrap herself in more layers to try and preserve her body heat. It had merely become a different state of existence.
Her thin black purse hung from her shoulder as she walked, hands finding themselves in her pockets.
If the Chicago skyline wasn't close already, she was now as close as she could get. The streets were busy. But she wasn't surprised.
Americans were always in a rush. They didn't look each other in the eyes as they passed each other in the streets, or say hello when they had to spend more time with one another besides random encounters.
No, they held phones in their hands and their posture paid for it. It was early in the morning and already people refused to wander aimlessly. Every step was so purposeful, carrying trays of coffee in their hands as they hurried to work. Speaking on the phone to family members that were still back home in bed. Feeling the buzz in their pockets at each new stock market notification.
