|
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 21, 2013 3:50:36 GMT
Days like these made Allen wonder why he was stationed out here. Nothing out of the normal routines occurred here. People watching wasn't really his thing but that was part of the obligation as long as he was in uniform. Damn, it sure was boring though. He supposed though that making sure that these boring shifts, making the roundabouts in the streets was also an important task to keep with. Unless he was called in for something else. Keeping the peace, upholding the law and making sure nobody caused any trouble whatsoever. It looked all good on paper. Walking the walk and talking the talk were two different things.
A long yawn exhaled from his mouth. The ravenette rubbed his eyes slightly looking down at the cup of coffee he grabbed at a local cafe ten minutes ago. Half full, or half empty - depending how one looked at it. He took another swig of the warm drink. Out of the corner of his sky blue eye, he noticed somebody drop something on the sidewalk. The police officer watched as the person walk away without noticing what they dropped. Officer Nightingale rushed over to pick up the item then attempted to catch up with the individual.
"Excuse me!" he called out, "Please wait, you dropped something." Crap, he didn't want to lose them. He didn't know how important these set of keys in his hands were but he could imagine losing them would suck. Shuffling through the cluster of people didn't make it easier either. |
|
|
|
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 22, 2013 5:44:39 GMT
BUT MEN GET LOST SOMETIMES AS YEARS UNFURL ONE DAY HE CROSSED SOME LINE HE WAS TOO MUCH IN THIS WORLD SOCIALIZING CONSISTED OF THE SAME BASIC FORMULA, ALWAYS BEGINNING WITH A HI AND ENDING WITH A GOOD-BYE. A friendly attitude, coupled with a warm smile, and the objective was to build a connection with the prime target, a level of trust, a relationship akin to confidants; every individual required a different level of effort, some easier to gain an understanding of, whilst others proved to be more complicated in the social venture of friendship—but neither the means nor the journey mattered when the varying paths led to the same result: information.
Meticulous in his tactics, the phrase of perfection is in the details had never been more true in the ideologies of Julius, whose absorbed expression was carefully crafted onto his features as he fumbled through the zips of his shoulder bag, walking heedlessly through the crowd as if to appear disheveled and busy; he was, after all, a free-spirited writer—a role, a lie, he forced himself to believe—digging through drafts that needed correcting, recalling appointments that needed rescheduling.
A clumsy bump against a stranger's shoulder was made intentional, but the blurted "sorry" that erupted between his lips scripted it into an accident; life was the stage, and he acted in it. Rinse and repeat, he mentally hummed, caramel-hued capsules swiftly flicking a glance to a nearing destination where a nameless florist swept fallen petals, vegetation figments, off of her store's front. Right at the estimated time, too.
As the gap closed between him and the located figure, Julius flipped the flap of his bag, a ring of keys already trained to the corner of a notebook; he plucked the bounded text from its place in the cavity, allowing for the aforementioned keys to escape and station itself onto the pavement as he past the florist. Julius proceeded to walk, anticipating for her to peel it from the ground and ask him to wait, tell him that he had dropped something of value—but no command to stop arrived, however, and when he peered over his shoulders to casually look if the female worker was following him, he realized it was not she who picked up the keys, but a he.
Oh, no. Quickly, he turned away.
This didn't go as planned at all.
"Excuse me!"
Goddammit. Julius didn't look, didn't dare twist his attention back to the voice he knew was being directed at him as the person mentioned a fallen something. Still playing oblivious, he continued to walk, idly glazing his eyes over his spiral book.
@allen ahahaHAAHa, i'm jumping in.
|
|
|
|
|
mortal
with 49 posts
|
| bitchez, dey come dey go |
|
Post by YUN MO on Oct 24, 2013 8:54:35 GMT
SEI SIND
DAS ESSEN
UND WIR
SIND DIE jager  Yun has seen the keys fall as well. She smiles because she knows the florist to daydream, and she guesses the clumsy man-in-glasses to be an absent-minded intellectual. Her Blackberry slides from her ear as she mutters a sharp and sudden farewell. The woman pauses by a stand of flowers, plucking one to smell, wavering, watching, waiting for the man to drift away and the sweeping florist to move back inside to take over the cash register.
There isn't much worth to a key without knowing what it unlocks, but Yun is curious for a profession. A spark of greed stirs behind the blossom lifted to her nose. She wants to know. Whether it's for a train locker or a bicycle, the mystery kicks on her senses.
But she growls and presses the flower back into the stand when a cop steps in front of her and picks up her raccoon treat. The metal glints in his palms as he shouts. Mo Yun stomps after him, looking around, trying to gauge how much of a scene he will make. She doesn't like to talk to uniforms, but in her pencil skirt and white secretary's blouse, she knows what she can get away with.
"Excuse me," she says after the cop. He is hampered by a lunch-hour crowd, and so she easily comes up beside him. Lies spring to her lips. "He's my neighbor - rather an absent-minded guy, but I can hand them off to him when I get off of work!" She smiles warmly, holding out the palm of her hand.
@allen | @jules
ditto c: |
|
