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ѺωӘȠ ℒ. ϨӧɱЗгș

XXXWith: I shall call him, The Square
XXXFeeling: Hungry wants food NOMNOMNOM
XXXThoughts: Kitty Pancakes sound good kthanks


A simple, 'Alright', was said from the other, a happy feeling over coming Owen. Yes! Free food! Mo money for meee! Silently he fist pumped, while the other turned his back, not seeing the goofy acts he was doing. Hell, he could dance right now, so happy to get a free meal. It wasn't every day someone just handed you something or payed for it. Most of the time you had to steal that s**t. Get your hands a little dirty.
Like a kid following behind his father, that's what Owen did the whole way there. Boots crunched over the gravel, a few steps behind. He did a small curtsy when the man opened the door for him, acting like some polite chick, thanking him for opening the door. A blast of heat washed over him; cheeks flushing, lips not cracking in the wind anymore, fingers getting some feeling back.

Soon they were seated into a booth; curious blue eyed looked about. This place seemed to be pretty packed. Did NO ONE have families anymore or something? Or was everyone else on some random date too?
There was mostly silence from the other, until some freaky chick with an eye problem came over, taking down his order and then asking for Owen's. He gave her a funny look, watching as she batted her lashes. Pulling his eyes away he looked down at the menu, some drool spilling down the corner of his mouth. "Uuuuuummmm, I think I'll haveee.." Wiping away the drool he continued, "Two sausages, two eggs-sunny side up, two pieces of toast, three pieces of bacon, some waffles with extra syrup, and a tall cup of milk please." Batting his eyes back at her he handed his menu, the woman jotting it down quickly, "My my, you must be hungry!" She winked at him, before running off to go hand their orders to the chef.

Ahh, to be a chef in a decent restaurant. Owen could only wish for such a simple, pleasant job. But no, he was left flipping burgers. Speaking of jobs, it made him curious as to who, and what this stranger did. Crossing his arms over the table he took up most of the space, leaning over he looked curiously at the man, "So, mister stranger, thank you for this lovely date, of course I think its' well deserved after you fondled me. But don't you think it'd more gentleman like to tell me your name before you agree to whisking me away and buying me food?" A hand popped up, and he now rested his chin in it, pink lips curled into a wicked smile, "I guess I will have to do the introduction then. The names Owen Somers. Part time burger flipper, part time comedian, and full time love machine." Eyebrows wiggled a bit, jumping up and down on his forhead.
Owen was putting on quite a show, wondering how far he could push this mans buttons, how uncomfortable he could make him. This, uptight man, brought out the playful side in him most definitively.




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Deep wells must be dug,XXXXXX
If you want clear water.XXXXXXXX
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DoctorNikolaiJamesWells
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While he was sitting there arranging the napkin holder and condiments so they were in an aesthetically pleasing position, Nikolai's silver eyes caught sight of some potential trouble. Several kids had made a run for a dine and dash, but they were intercepted by a blonde male that looked slightly older than himself. At first he expected the boys to simply bowl the poor man over, but the male flashed his badge just in time. A cop hmm... The doctor's eyebrows arched skyward with this realization.

His gaze followed this man closely while he finished scolding the kids that he had caught trying to skip on paying. It was strange, Nik could feel his heart beating a lot more quickly than normal.

"Here's your London Fog Mister."

The voice nearly made him jump. Nikolai forced a smile and nodded up at the waitress. "Thank you it smells lovely." He offered an empty compliment before taking a sip. Once the girl was gone his attention was back on the blondie in the suit. He was starting to get a bit desperate, but he would never walk into a police station being involved in the gang that he was in. Perhaps he could ask the man if he had seen anyone like his brother dead or alive in the city. Havoc was the whole reason he came to this dump of a city. He wouldn't feel right until he found the poor kid... okay to be fair he wasn't a kid any more. He was twenty one, but he still felt responsible for him.

Grabbing his mug tightly he lifted his slender frame from the booth and wandered over to the man's table. He stood next to him tilting his head slightly before he spoke. "Excuse me sir. I couldn't help but notice that you are an officer of the Law. " A pleasant smile crept upon Nikolai's face. "I know you are probably on break, but I think I should really talk to someone about this problem I have." He took a seat across from the cop setting his cup down in front of himself.

He frowned slightly adopting a more serious albeit friendly expression. He pulled out his wallet and fiddled around with it for a moment. Dammit where did I put it. He whispered under his breath. The picture of his brother he usually kept around was gone. He didn't remember taking it out of its place. "Look here's the thing. My little brother's missing. I haven't heard from him in six months and I am seriously worried he has gotten himself into some sort of trouble. What would I have to do to find out if he's been arrested at any point in time. Or possibly. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. Possibly check your record of John Does found dead. I am not sure how this whole process works. Ive tried looking myself, but what can I do I am just a professor." His cold steel coloured eyes remained fixed on the stranger's.

"Oh there you are. you just moved tables. Here's your food you ordered." The waitress interrupted his little plea for assistance plopping down the plate in front of him some of the salad spilling from it.

The male didn't even glance in the direction of the food. His mouth had gone dry. He felt incredibly thirsty. Nikolai took another sip of his drink his fingers gripping the sides of the mug tightly.
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my hands won't come clean no matter how I wash them
Location: Cafe
Mood: Tired
With: Lorenzo
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                                          Keenan didn't wake up to birds chirping, or the sun peeking through the blinds, or even naturally. No, that was too poetic to happen to the likes of him. Instead, he woke up to the loud bass of whatever his nuisance of a daughter was listening to. He loved her, he truly did, but some of her habits just drove him up the wall. How someone could listen to music that loudly was beyond him - he wagered she would be deaf by forty. He groaned, throwing a pillow over his head to try and drown out the wavering voices of the band she had playing, though he knew resistance was futile. It was already late morning; it was time to face the demon. Tossing the pillow into the corner of his bedroom, he dragged a large hand down his face and got the sleep out of his eyes before swinging his legs over the bed to stand up. A chill ran up his spine from the cold wood floor, yawning loudly and stretching his muscles in a rather over-exaggerated way. Slouching, Keenan fished for a clean pair of dress pants and a button up shirt, changing into them and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. 'Alright, Keenan, time to start your day,' he thought glumly, opening the door and cringing as the music hit him full on.

                                          "Kiss. Me. K-K-K-Kiss me, infect me with your lo-- DAD!" She'd been standing on the couch, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and a tank top, singing into a brush. 'Typical,' he thought, rolling his eyes. Her yell of outrage was from him turning off her music; the absolute worst thing a person could do to a teenager. He gave her a brisk look, raising an eyebrow as if to dare her to object any further. Keenan knew she didn't want to be here - that she'd much rather be back in England, maybe spending the holiday with her boyfriend, but he had made plans with Julie to get her this year. Every other year they alternated, which he didn't like to think of since it caused Keenan guilt. Their daughter wasn't a toy, but he missed her dearly. Even if she didn't ever run to him like she use to when she was five, with her arms outstretched and a big grin on her face, he still wanted to see her grow up. And oh, how she had. She looked so much like her mother, but Emma had his eyes and skin tone. She gave a loud huff and sat down on the couch to brood, a dark expression on her face as her eyes followed him to the bathroom.

                                          He made quick work of his morning routine, combing his hair so that it laid flat, brushing his teeth and shaving any unwanted facial hair. With a bit of cologne on his wrists and some deodorant, he was good to go. He'd promised Emma some breakfast last night, since apparently his cooking was absolutely horrid. "You burn the eggs," she'd complain. So, he was taking her to a diner he knew of downtown that had a good breakfast menu. He'd only been there enough times to know what he liked and what he disliked. Shuffling into the kitchen, he pocketed his black leather wallet and poked his head back into the living room. "Get ready," he called to Emma, who gave him a snarl before stomping off to his guest bedroom. Jingling his keys a bit, he leaned against the door frame of the front door, already donning a light winter jacket. He would be driving, after all, so he wasn't going to be that exposed to the freezing cold outside. When she came out, still looking livid, he simply smiled at her and turned around to go start the car. What he didn't see was her making a face at him and then sticking out her tongue.

                                          It wasn't a very fancy car, compared to his neighbours, but it got him from Point A to Point B, even if it did stall every now and again. Putting the keys in the ignition, he revved the engine a few times and sat in complete silence, the radio turned to a dead channel that played nothing but fuzz. When the car was finally heated up enough to function, he honked the horn and his daughter came down the steps (not before slamming the front door), and clambered ungracefully into the passengers seat. Keenan still wasn't use to American cars, with the drivers seat being on the left side instead of the right. And driving on the right side of the road instead of the left. It was a hard thing to adjust to, so when he drove, he made sure to concentrate. No conversation was made until he found a parking spot - which wasn't easy - a block away from the diner. That was when Emma opened her mouth to complain.

                                          "It's cold," she whined not even a minute into walking. No s**t, Sherlock. It's Winter. Giving her a sympathetic smile, he sighed and threw an arm over her shoulder, pulling her to his side. "Get over it, Em. We'll be there soon enough." Just as he'd finished that sentence, surely enough they were there. The warmth licked at their cheeks as they entered from the chilly cold, teeth chattering together as their bodies tried to heat up much like his engine. He ushered his daughter to one of the empty booths, and told her to stay there, which she obliged to happily. With a fist under her chin, she gazed out the window boredly, half her mind on food, half her mind on making her dads life a living hell. Keenan gave her a quick side glance before going to the front counter to order their breakfasts. Even if it was late morning, breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and he didn't plan on missing it. Leaning on the cold surface of the counter, he waved to get the waitress' attention. She gave him a sweet smile, that probably worked on most men, and drew out her writing pad. Two breakfast specials, which included eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns. If Emma had a problem with that, she'd have him to answer to, because he was the one paying for the meal.

                                          Shedding his coat, he dragged his hand down his face again, wearing a tired expression from lack of sleep. He'd been called into the Hospital late last night, on an emergency. One of the patients he managed had tried to bite their own tongue off in an attempted suicide. They'd found the patient on the floor, blood soaked and twitching, and managed to send her to emergency care before she bled out. She'd barely survived, but they'd saved her for another day. Which she'd be incredibly angry about when she woke up. He didn't get home until around two in the morning. And the rest was history. Looking around silently, he took in the other customers. There was a man in a plain looking suit sitting down, chugging mug after mug of coffee as if it were his life source. He didn't look very old, but he also looked professional. Turning his attention back to the waitress, he noticed she'd placed the two plates full of food on the table. The smell was absolutely intoxicating. Keenan gathered up the plates, one in each hand, and made a quick stop at the blonde haired strangers table.

                                          "You know, a banana, or some whole fruits and veggies would wake you up a lot more quickly than caffeine," he chuckled as he walked by, giving his two cents, "especially if you want to be on top of your game." He didn't stick around to talk, since his stomach was overpowering his want or need to socialize, and Emma was waiting for him. She gave him a curious look, the corners of her lips pulled into a frown and an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Shrugging indifferently, he pushed her plate towards her and grabbed his fork, putting a bit of everything on it before he started to eat. "Thig in," he mumbled, his mouth full. With a look of disgust, she wrinkled her nose and began to eat as well.
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α ρ н σ я ι ѕ м 1 4 6 : : н ι т м α и





      Warrick didn’t know what opinion to form of Christmas. When he was a child it was joyous and Father Christmas had always been one of his favourite people. When his biological father had died it lost a touch of its magic but his mother had always tried so hard to keep it special that, even after the addition of his step-father, Warrick still found something special within it. After moving away from them his opinion on Christmas shifted to one of dread and disappointment. Father Christmas had long since died and he and his step-father were always incredibly brisk to one another, both putting on a social front out of the shared love for his mother. Warrick had never doubted the man’s feelings for his mother; he purely resented him for trying to be his father when he was not. It was stubbornness that stopped him growing away from the feeling, his older self knew that he’d spent his whole life being incredibly unfair to his mother’s husband but he still wanted to keep his own father alive in his own right.

      His mother had died when he was fourty-seven and neither he nor his step-father attempted to keep in touch after that. They didn’t hate one another but Warrick wanted nothing to do with him.

      Christmas had become special again with Clarke. He’d taught Warrick about Christmas with friends but as that had taken a notably worse turn in his life Christmas died along with him. The biggest nod to the event was that he would buy Clover the same deluxe bone that Clarke would have bought her.

      His mornings started the same then as they did every other day of the year.
      He woke up at 5.00am.
      Still dressed in the thin shirt and boxers he wore to bed, he would spend the first hour doing weights in his bedroom. Then he would shower and eat, also feeding Clover.
      After this, at roughly 7.00am, he would walk Clover. The length of the walk depended on the tasks that were set out for him that day at HQ.

      If he had a hit he would get home by 8.00am and by at HQ by 9.00am, then spending the day planning and preparing. Otherwise it would be a case of what happened on the walk. There had been one occasion where he had run across a mother and her child walking their own dog in one of the green areas of Whistle City. The mother had her arm in a sling and the child was only four so he had spent the largest part of that morning helping her and Clover herded their dog so that it couldn’t wander too far. If any of the gang had passed by they weren’t likely to have noticed Warrick. He wore his walking jeans {faded blue} and any assortment of odd, old tops and lacked a hat. Considering at HQ he gave the impression of only ever wearing his dark green coat over a thin green army top and thick dark-gray, armless jacket {regularly swapped for a bullet vest of a similar look should the situation require it} and tough black trousers and always wore his old, battered army beret. That and he never mentioned Clover so not everyone knew he actually owned a dog.

      Other gang members had different ideas about Christmas so as the day drew near his walks with Clover in the morning tended to be quite long ones.

      Currently he was heading home again to change and head out to HQ. He had no hits to deal with currently but there were some weapons on his list to clean and check and then he wanted to head to the firing range. Clovers walked a few steps ahead of him, periodically sniffing at lamps before jogging to catch-up and repeat the process. She wasn’t on a lead, Clover was trained enough that she didn’t need to be, even around heavy traffic. Warrick did carry a lead with him however. If ever they came to a particularly crowded street he would stop and put it on to stop them getting separated. Currently the streets were reasonably light so along they went; a dog and her master.





ℓ σ ¢ α т ι σ и : : A Whistle City Street
ω ι т н : : Clover
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                                                  "Three words to ruin a man's ego...?"

                                                  His business was to his cup of Joe until he felt a pair of eyes on him. Chills began to crawl up his spine and send anxious signals into his brain. Like a magnet, his eyes followed forth, becoming attached to the man that stood right by his table. When he spoke, the tone of his voice sounded similar to those that come from privileged society. The way the tone of his voice fluctuated, nearly going up a an octave revealed how much he "showed respect" to authority. He may have a career that forces him to practice such talents to his superiors, or to the public. Before Lorenzo had any time to examine what exactly this stranger wanted, he took a seat in his booth, talking around 100 mph. The few pieces of evidence he caught was "missing," "trouble," and ".. I'm a professor." He tried to collect his thoughts by rubbing in between his eyes. This was too much for this time of day, and all he did was walk away from a burglary investigation. Like second nature, Lorenzo pulled out his faded, green notepad from his jacket, retrieved his pen from the binding, and flipped it open to a blank page.

                                                  "Whoa... slow it down. So, you want to file a Missing Person's report? Why didn't you come down the precinct to report it?" running his fingers through his hair, he tried to calm himself, readying the questioning, "First off, can we have a name?"

                                                  It seemed like he was going in for a long one. His was back on the clock before he knew it. Soon, a different waitress wandered by, dropping off this stranger's goods on this table. Each dish she brought out raised some questions. The amount of work to prepare his meals seemed far beyond the normal means of the average consumer. I mean... he had the crust cut off and on the stinking plate!! Before the waitress had time to escape, Lorenzo had his own order to drop in.

                                                  ""Can I have a Coke? No ice?" he had already six cups of coffee.

""Is it in?""

Quote:
OoC
Øfficer Ʀussel ₳lcott


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Woah.....


Alcott's hand slid off the table and to his pocket, fingering the lining of his wallet for a moment, the smallest of frowns forming on his face. Eh.....did he bring enough? He didn't want to be rude and just whip the thing out, and he wasn't a cheap skate. He just...lived paycheck to paycheck, with a little emergency cash in the bank-but moving had been costly. So he leaned back in his seat, hand still on his pocket, but under the table he pulled out his wallet, trying not to be noticeable as he opened it. He stole a glance down, a sigh leaving his lips. Sixty bucks. The boy wouldn't be that costly.....he hoped.

Boy.... he knew he shouldn't think of him as a boy, but....how he acted, and his vast appetite.... Well maybe calling him boy mentally wouldn't hurt-it best described him.


"You eat a lot."


He spoke softly-he hadn't meant it in any insult, it was just how he spoke often, without thinking, and stating either the obvious or the unrealized.
Alcott straightened, backing up his arms from the table when the boy fanned out his own arms after crossing them, nd he met his gaze, uncomfortable again.

Whaaaaa?!

He did a double take, lips parting as he quickly glanced around without a turn of his head-did anyone hear that?! It wasn't true, the boy was....exaggerating, or-or did he seriously think that he.....

"Th-this is not a date."


He spoke firmly, and slowly, as if the boy didn't understand, and he glanced around again, brows furrowing together before he looked towards him, uneasily, then around again, shrinking back in his seat. It shouldn't be possible for a man of his height and build to just sink away, but he managed a bit, staring down at his mug and turning it a bit by the handle.

"I....I did not sexually harass you. Don't.... say such things aloud..."


.......This was ...............

Awkward.


He wriggled in his seat for a moment, thankful when the waitress came by to pour coffee in his mug, smiling and winking to him.


"Wan' some cream 'an sugah, hun?"

"No thanks..."


He still seemed a bit skittish, and she pulled out a slip of paper from her chest, sliding it over to him before humming and walking away. Curious, he glanced down-oh....a phone number. What was that for-.............Oh. He felt his ears redden for a moment, and he coughed lightly, sliding the phone number to the side, away from them both and settling it near the napkin dispenser, uninterested in the offer.

But he was thankful for the distraction, for now he rose the steaming mug to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma....mnnn, coffee..... He took a swig, tasting it-it wasn't as good as what he had at home, but it was alright by diner standards.

He took a more confident gulp now, listening-Owen? So his name was Owen, he worked at in the fast food industry, he wasn't sure if he was an actual comedian(then again he never really watched the channels that had comedians...or was he local?) And he was-

Alcott almost choked on his coffee, spilling it a bit on the table and setting the mug down, coughing into his fist for a moment before grabbing the napkins and cleaning up the mess, pale now as he glanced around, then to the boy, shock clearly written on his face.


"Y.....you're a prostitute?!"



(AMG I love Alcott XD)



╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
❝Yeah it's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive❞
ѺωӘȠ ℒ. ϨӧɱЗгș

XXXWith: Officer Square
XXXFeeling: Excited!
XXXThoughts: BHUBUIGUIVBOerhe


'You eat a lot'.Well no duh! Owen rolled his beautiful blue eyes at the man, thinking ridiculous that he pointed out something so obvious. He saw him staring under neath the table, Owen inching over as far as he could, but decided he maybe didn't want to see. Maybe this man was a huger pervert than the thought, or accused him of being, and people all knew what perverts played with under the table...
A look of shear horror spread across the man's face, eyes darting about, lips parted. Oh how giddy that look made Owen feel. The man spoke, attempting to be firm, finally finding his voice, claiming this was no date. Oh bullshit this was so a date! An obnoxious laugh escaped his pink lips, throwing his head back. Unbelievable! This man will soon self destruct if I push anymore buttons! The other man kept looking around, furrowing his eyebrows. Wiping a tear form laughing so hard eh watched as he shrunk. Whoa, that was weird. He didn't think tall guys could so shirt again.

Owen was aware that when you slumped like that, your legs fanned out more. A wicked grin grew on his face, fanning out his own legs, their knees touching. Suddenly he stated that he did not sexually harass Owen. That was truth. And now the tables were turned; Owen was sexual harassing him. Awkward silence floated between them, blue orbs kept on his soft face. Staring into those brown eyes. The vision was skewed softly when he hid behind his steaming cup off coffee, as if that would act as a barrier between the two.

The man looked like he was about to choke, Owen ready to get up and do the hime-lick or whatever s**t it was called, another look of shock hitting his face. Then some strange words came out, 'Prostitute!?' Owen sat back down, smile never faltering, but eyebrows did raise in shock. Again! This man had blindsided him! What the ********!? That was his job.
Deciding to go along with it Owen sighed, playing with his cup of milk. "Yes yes, I am what you call, a 'prostitute'. But don't use such a foul word. I am simply a man trying to survive, even if that means selling my sexy body to live. " Winking at him, he sipped on his milk. Pushing his legs towards him some more. "Now, please, telly you escort your name. It's only fair."




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Deep wells must be dug,XXXXXX
If you want clear water.XXXXXXXX
Øfficer Ʀussel ₳lcott


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His knee hit the underside of the table for a moment, when he felt the other-it was merely surprise, and jerking it up had been his only reaction. More of his precious coffee spilled from it, but by the time he wasted napkins in mopping it up, the waitress who had an eye on him came and refilled his mug.

He thanked her, sitting up a bit-but the other's knees were still against his, and he gulped down the coffee, only to breathe out softly-ah....he burned the back of his throat. He breathed hot air out through his nose, eyes watering for a moment as he set the mug down and crunched on bacon slowly, eyes down at his plate, glued to them now.

"Err....y......there are...."


His brows furrowed as he dared himself to look up at the boy now, blinking softly as he finished the bacon, washing it down with coffee before he spoke again, softly.

".....There are other job choices in life that pay just as much...and don't need education behind it.....B...besides, diseases and such-it...it's a dangerous life style."


He was a cop. He should do something about this-and since he couldn't arrest (not that he could, it was a he said she said scenario) he could hopefully talk to the other or something...maybe sway their mind to some other form of making money that wasn't...against the law?


"E-escort? I......."



He trailed off for a moment, sighing and running a hand through his hair. Oh God-did....did the boy think he was....err.....buying him? The thought had his cheeks lightly dappled pink, and other than the look of discomfort, there wasn't much expression on his face as he glanced out the window.
He didn't want to insult him by saying no...then again he most definitely did NOT wish to.....err.....

"Alcott." A pause. "Officer, Alcott."


That might sway the boy a bit into backing off.... He could feel his knees against his, and he chose now to cough softly and shift in his seat, acting like he was readjusting but in reality he was sitting up and moving his legs back as much as he could, and being tall, it wasn't much.
He went back to eating, head down, though glancing around....

Oh God, what would people think, seeing him eating with a pros-ah......escort? Would he be marked as a bad cop now? Would they lose faith in the justice system? He swallowed thickly and ate slowly, not daring to look up at the other again, at that big smile, at those eyes...

Alcott wasn't interested in people, he was a loner-he never had an attraction to anyone but...
A sigh left him as he slid a hand to his neck, fingering the gold chain of his locket for a moment, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining her feather light kisses, her scent...

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at runny eggs and over cooked bacon.
Frowning softly, though obviously now calmer, and he began to eat quietly, eyes on his plate though they did dart over to the mug whenever he lifted it to his lips, keeping himself busy for now.



╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
❝Yeah it's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive❞
ѺωӘȠ ℒ. ϨӧɱЗгș

XXXWith: Officer Square
XXXFeeling: Adrenaline pumping
XXXThoughts: I think I s**t my pants


Oh gosh, those confused and shocked looks were priceless to Owen. Hell, he didn't even need presents this year, this man's discomfort was enough for him; rewarding. Bang! The other's knee hit the table, shaking some of the plates. Spilling coffee, and in the blink of an eye, his cup was refilled by the waitress who was clearly interested.
Ah, women. Complicated creatures, sneaky and emotional. Thus was Owen stuck with his own kind; men. Sure, he had banged a few chicks here and there, they were undeniably beautiful, but nothing to ever get in long terms with. Once the tears started falling, Owen started running.. Not good with that kind of s**t. Men were more, sturdy, they kept their s**t on-lock. At least that's how Owen liked to look like it, that's how he felt it should be. Never showing his true emotions, the negative and crying child was locked away in a cage. Shoved deep down.

Owen scarfed down his food, munching on the bacon, inhaling the sausages, downing the eggs, ripping into the toast and waffles. It was all gone in a matter of seconds, some of his food still left on his luscious lips, dabbing it away with his napkin. Curiously, he watched as the other slowly ate, every once in a while eyeing him. In between bites he spoke, blah blah again with his life style being dangerous. Blah blah Owen should know better. Like he gave a rats a** with this guy thought. Who was he? Some officer of the law?
Upon saying the word 'escort', Owen could almost read the man's thoughts. Pink flushed his smooth cheeks, and Owen just felt the urge to pinch them! But resisted, the knee contact was enough; still touching him.
Finally his name, a pause, and them BAM! He was a cop, finally admitting it!

Uh oh... Fear struck him, that goofy grin on his pretty face, vanishing. Thankfully, he had eaten all his food, so if he felt the need to split, he could. Oh ******** oh ********! I just fooled this guy into thinking I was some sort of prostitute and now he tells me he's an officer!?!? Oh ******** oh ********] Blue eyes darted about, pressing the napkin against his lips more, trying to hide the frown. "Wait!" Speaking abruptly, he tossed down the napkin. "If you're some 'officer'," Fingers did the annoying air quotes, "Then why don't you arrest me. Ohhh I get it..." A wicked grin spread across his face. Fear turning into some sick excitement. Maybe this man was playing back with him.
Trying to throw ol Owen off, blindside him again. Well not for the third time! Hello no! Owen would continue his act, leaning over the table once more.
"SO, are we gonna play cops and robbers when we get back to your place?" Batting his eyelashes he laughed once more. This was as far as he would take the game. Fear over ruling the excitement. Even if he wasn't a real cop, Owen would not have sex with a stranger for money. He ******** hated whores. Besides, the bad guy was never supposed to go on a date with the good guy. Seeing as his meal was finished up, he gulped down the rest of his milk, sliding out of the booth.

Doing a small bow, Owen looked up at the man, "I hope you enjoyed my little skit, Officer Square. I greatly appreciate the meal. But as you see, a villain like me, can not be on a date with such a goody good as yourself. " Leaning down he kissed the man's forehead; another playful act, another button to push. There was no meaning behind it, it was simply to toy around.
Standing up straight he looked over at the waitress, the woman confused as to why he was leaving abruptly. "Good day to you, my dear."
Tipping a fake hat at her, it made his ways towards the door.


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I got the balls in the sackXXXX
& the crackers in
my crackXXXXXX
- YO YO YOXXXXXXXXXXXX
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DoctorNikolaiJamesWells
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Those steely eyes flicked down to the notepad and pen in the man's hands before he began arranging his food on his plate with the dull scratched up cutlery the diner had provided. He piled cut off crusts in a neat orderly pile and righted the abused salad. Picking up a napkin he wiped the excess dressing from the lip of his plate. He inhaled carefully filling the entirety of his lungs before forcing out every last bit of air out in a long long exaggerated exhale. The officer's questions were rather valid. It was a round about way to contact police about a missing person in a cafe. Maybe it was because he didn't like doing things the simple way.

"I guess you could say that... I just don't know the whole procedure. There is also the problem with the fact that he is an adult its not like he was some abducted kid or something." He had actually considered speaking to the cops but he was worried they would just laugh it off and say Havoc probably moved on with his life somewhere else.

"A name. I suppose that is a suitable place to start. My name is Doctor Nikolai Wells, but I think what you really need is my brother's name. In that case You should know his Name is Havoc Wells." He set the napkin down folding it neatly to the side. He lifted his fork and knife up again and began sectioning his sandwich into tiny bite size equilateral triangles.

Nikolai offered the other Doctor of the gang a simple glance as he passed by not saying anything to him. "As for his appearance he doesn't have a license so I don't think his photo would be in the system. He looks like me except with more muscle bright blue eyes and eight less years. Oh and he has a few tattoos. I can't remember what they are exactly." He lifted one of the mini sandwich triangles to his lips taking care to chew them properly before he swallowed. He picked up another doing the same as he stared at the police detective. He had never spent much time around the police before so he found them incredibly intriguing.
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my hands won't come clean no matter how I wash them
Location: Cafe
Mood: Tired
With: Lorenzo
Øfficer Ʀussel ₳lcott


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Eh?Alcott blinked in surprise at the sudden outburst, the piece of egg hanging from his fork falling back to his plate as he glancing up at the othe, frowning-he could see an odd bundle of emotions forming upon the boy's face-was that fear? It took him a moment to realize that that was possibly because he was an officer.....People shouldn't fear the law, but respect it and feel safe around it, not fear...
Oh, that.

He watched him curl his index and middle finger of both hands in the air again-he did that before, but he didn't understand. Now he figured it was to doubt his words-but then his previous statements didn't make sense.

Alcott realized he was confusing himself mentally, and it showed on his face for a moment before he shoved it aside. Ah, best think of it some other time then, and look up urban dictionary about that later.

"E-EH?!"
He dropped the fork now, his face reddening as he swallowed, shaking his head quickly.

"A-a-absolutely not! I-I haven't arrested you b-because I'm not apartofthesystemyet...."


His words were spoken quickly, shy now suddenly, shocked at he other's words-did...did he honestly think that?! He thought he deterred him with his words-but it only seemed to suck the wh-.....the escort in closer, and that was not, definitely not, his goal!

"I-I am an official of the law-I will not, and shall not ever, um....use-.....hire an escort."


Oh God his face was red, the entire palette-that was a first for him, and he wriggled in place as the other stood, blinking at the bow and glancing around. That was earning stares, and he gripped his fork a bit, dropping his gaze quickly. Was he leaving? Please leave. For my sanity.....

Skit?


"Th-this was not a da-"

Chu.

Gravity pulled his jaw down as lips touched his brow, and he sat there, stunned to silence and looking up at him, watching him leave. He glanced to the woman, she was pouting now, staring at him before she approached and smacked him-

[********]

"I'd like my number back. You shouldn't lead on a lady. Hmph."


She reached over the table and took the slip of paper and left, and he sat there, a hand on his reddening cheek, even moreso confused now, and he stared from her retreating form to the door.

............What?


A different waitress came by with the tab, and he paid quietly, unable to raise his eyes from the floor of the diner as he headed out, swallowing thickly when he saw the boy, walking. He remembered the instructions-right for Miss Marple drive, and....the boy was heading right. Swallowing, he walked at a slow pace, hoping the other didn't think he was following.

His mind was spazzing on him, and he didn't realize he stepped on a cat's tail until it yowled loudly, startling him. He stumbled back for a moment, eyes wide as the cat hissed angrily at him and stalked out towards the street, passed it's pancake relative, and out of sight.

It's yowl of pain and anger seemed to echo, and he froze like a deer in headlights-would the boy look over at him?

....Well, ********]



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❝Yeah it's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive❞
Kyouya Masashi Himura - AccountantUser Image

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                                  Kyouya hated Christmas. He hated it more than he hated middle school children. He hated it more than waking up in the morning and finding he’d slept with him mouth open and his throat was sore. And no, he didn’t really feel too terribly obligated to explain why he hated Christmas to much of anyone. Only one person other than him knew exactly why he hated the holiday so much and he half expected him to hate it too. Two years and it still hurt like it had just happened.

                                  But, of course, he knew it would raise a lot of questions. Hating Christmas was like having a Third eye in America it seemed. He knew people though he was the Grinch. He’d been called that by at least four people he could remember. He didn’t blame them but he didn’t like the mockery either. It wasn’t funny to him and it wasn’t against his religion. He just had no reason to share his personal tragedies with everyone in the gang. But he knew there would be questions. Especially from Stan.

                                  Being the Second in Command was, albeit, still a little terrifying but Stan seemed to have gotten a familiar grip on things fairly quickly. He couldn’t have faulted Viya’s choice in electing Stan to take his place. He was a good leader. Stan was also a bit more cheerful than he liked around the season. He was sure Stan didn’t understand why he hated the season. He’d snapped at Stan at least twice about it, which he’d felt bad about later as they’d been rather cutting words and had apologized without explaining. He’d also removed more than a few decorations from the shared office and put them up in Stan’s room again. In a week, it would all be over and he could try to tuck it away and not think about it.

                                  He also knew that if Stan ever asked, he would inevitably crack. It would probably end with him in tears, but he knew that if Stan actually got down to it and really asked what stemmed his hatred for the holiday, he would tell him. Not many others got that privilege.

                                  But for now, he was content to run the office that led to their shared quarters. Anuviya, the previous leader, had left the large, plush apartment to them when he left, insisting that they both move in and coexist. Kyouya suspected it was more for his benefit since he was one of the few that hadn’t joined out of desperation or out of a need for the danger. Honestly, Kyouya didn’t know why he’d joined them, but he was there now and he was too ingrained to just simply back out. The desk was nice and more than encompassed all of the paperwork Kyouya needed for balancing the accounts. His black, square-framed glasses were perched on his nose and his hair was pulled up into the usual tight ponytail. Usually, Kyouya would maintain the usual look of a black jacket and tie, done up nicely and ironed, but today, on Christmas eve, he suspected everyone would be a little too preoccupied with other things to come bother Stan or Kyouya. (Unless it was truly important, in which case what Kyouya was wearing or not wearing would really not be important at all.)

                                  The paperwork was dull but it kept him distracted. Calculations calmed him and he needed as many calming distractions as he could get. His pen scratched furiously across the paper as he scrawled down calculations, occasionally pausing to enter numbers into the black TI-83 under his left hand. He was balancing the official accounts, which were all of the legal things done within the building and a few things that were completely false. Everything else went under the tables, so to speak, and would be balanced in a separate account that he planned on working with either later in the day or tomorrow.

                                  Maybe later he’d put one of his favorite Westerns on and just ignore the season entirely.

                                  [[Feel free to bother him if you want to~ But he's being moody.]]

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                Lucien stepped, feeling every inch of distance covered as if in some trance, his blood-colored mane a soft flow about his pale flesh. Today, he appeared particularly stark, red and white, rich and colorless. He was wet and cold, but he didn’t shiver. Tense muscles shivered. Lucien was not tense, but calm and at ease.

                Always at ease, even unsettlingly so.

                We know what the March Hare brings.

                So spoke his Shepherd, recognizable by the unique vocal distortion. Yes, Lucien knew too well what the March Hare brought. And here he was, late December, with nothing but empty hands. Had he some clue as to his direction, he might not feel so precarious, but he didn’t know where to go from here. For the first time, his motivation wasn’t driven by some powerful, consuming need, so he had to rely on intellect. But his intellect failed him, faltering from the fear his fire had once burned away. Too much. He was thinking too much.

                He could take Aphorism. Venna Vicente would be a worthy opponent, but Lucien was not afraid of him. They had similar psychological patterns, but Lucien knew how to devour his own demons, how to prevent them from owning him. He knew how to bind a man, assuming he survived long enough to do so, and had unflinchingly risen to worse adversaries.

                But Lucien didn’t want Aphorism. He’d need a figurehead to even attempt it, as Vivi’s men would not follow him. He didn’t have time for that kind of game.

                As Lucien continued a slow pace down the halls of Aphorism HQ, his gaze didn’t stray from his path, his steps an even lift and settle, lift and settle. His cold demeanor must’ve been a clear warning not to approach the usually playful redhead, as none did, deterred by the pervasive sense of warding that surrounded him. He wasn’t in the mood.

                Once, Old Vasik had whispered a soft note in his ear, something that had betrayed real appreciation for the first time that Lucien could recall. Old Vasik had told him that he – he – possessed qualities that might one day make him a worthy Vasik himself. Those words had impacted Lucien in such a profound way that he had…

                Had he been smarter then, he would’ve done things differently. Now Old Vasik was gone, and he hadn’t the faintest clue as to the identity or location of New Vasik. Now he had no connections with any monsters of rank. Vasik was too far away to even consider at his current point. Vivi was not so distant, yet that endeavor would likely prove fruitless. Once the March Hare came ‘round, Lucien would be replaced regardless of his achievements.

                Something he had guaranteed with his own hands.

                The syndicate cared little about Whistle City. Lucien was placed here to ensure that he didn’t interfere with New Vasik steadying his hold on the damaged throne. And he was alive because there was one thing no one could better him at.

                So then, what were his choices? Wait for the Hare?

                Lucien curled and opened his fingers as he moved, the digits numb and stiff. The frost in his hair was softened by the heat inside the building, but his dark, wet pants were slower to warm. It was neither raining nor snowing outside; he looked as though he had taken an impromptu swim.

                Soon, the snow would come. He must be eighteen by now then, for certain. Legally an adult.

                What a laugh.

                Perhaps Lucien’s poor mood had something to do with his absence from the company of one Elessa Villier, which had stretched nearly a week without a single word. Five days ago he had seen the commissioner, his own companionship distant but not hard, and then…

                We know what the March Hare brings.

                Lucien had been so consumed by his search for It that he had completely forgotten he wasn’t yet at liberty to seek anything. What was he thinking, spending so much time with Elessa? For pleasure? For affection? There was no functional purpose in his relationship with Elessa. In the end, it would do nothing for him. He was wasting time, wasting thought, wasting energy, when he could be cultivating something. Some plot. Some movement. But he was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

                The puppeteer had been Hatred.

                Was he nothing without that master?

                No. He was what he chose to be, nothing less.

                And he chose to be whatever was needed.

                Whatever was needed.

                To find It. Eventually.

                When Lucien reached what he vaguely recognized as his own door, he fitted his key inside the lock, opening it. His room was still located near to Vivi’s own chambers, away from the other members of Aphorism, though why he didn’t know. He rarely visited it, anyway, unsettled by the fact that so many was aware of his place of resting. It didn’t matter; he could disappear at his leisure, finding some hidden nook to indulge in slumber.

                Since his occupation of the space was limited, the décor of the room hadn’t changed since Lucien became a member of Aphorism. There were a few traces of his residency – items of little value – such as a spare shirt over the armchair and a pair of old books at the table, but overall the room appeared impersonal, though comfortable. Lucien’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he entered the room slowly.

                Cautiously, silently, he crept forward, closing the door behind him, his eyes drifting along the ceiling for several steps before they finally lowered along the attached walls. If the redhead had been tensed at all he would appear paranoid, but there seemed to be no uneasiness to his eyes or movements, merely observation.

                Dawnlight through the curtains was ample illumination for the young man as he slipped further into his own private set of rooms, his steps remaining slow and his sharp gaze scanning for anything that might possibly be amiss. Sleeplessness frayed the edges of his periphery, yet the alert perceptiveness lost none of its focus as he crossed into the small sitting room.

                Tonight…

                …Tonight he would need to take a decent rest, hopefully permitting his mind a much-needed repose.


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                                                  "TWhat is the difference between a golf ball and a g-spot?"

                                                  "Wai', wai', wai'... Time out!" Lorenzo used the sign for time out while holding the notepad and pen.

                                                  This entire affair stank from high heavens like thrown out fruitcake. First of all, the name that Mr. Wells gave for this supposed "missing person" sounded like an Alias than his real name. Then came the lack of physical proof that this guy even exists. The description was lacking in the finesse, too. A groan escaped from him, setting aside his pad and pen. To prepare himself for his response, he wiped his face from his forehead, and down to his chin. All the negative connotations and his childish opinions was wiped clean. Lorenzo was ready to be brutally honest with him. Clapping his hands together and intertwining his fingers, he pointed at Nikolia.

                                                  "Let me get this straight: in any and all forms, he wasn't taken against his own will?"

                                                  A pause lingered between the two, letting his question settle into Nikolai. The busy restaurant dematerialized around them, leaving only the two in their own little world. Lorenzo's eyes rested within this stranger, seeing if there was anything off from what he's saying. The man's eyes didn't flick erratically to downward left and back to him. His hands were as still as a master-less marionette, busy trying to perform the simple task of eating. Nikolai's brow was free of sweat... and so was his armpits for that matter. There was no anger tapping of his feet or an anxious energy from him. He... he was telling him the truth? This was no trick or gag to pull on a veteran detective. Nikolai Wells had asked a police officer to track down a man that may not want to be found. The mere seconds that passed on by [what seemed like a century passing] ended with the waitress from earlier dropping off his Coke, ice free.

                                                  "Here you go, Mister. Is there anything else you need?"


                                                  "Naw, I'm good right now. Thanks..."

                                                  Her heavy footsteps echoed behind them as they got back to business. Lorenzo's lips puckered, slipping in the dime-store straw and sipping at his dark, fizzy drink. The sweetness had helped cleanse the pallet of the bitter feeling he had about this. When he had refreshed himself, he propped his head on the table with his hand and gazed at Nikolai.


                                                  "If this is more about tracking down a person that had purposely ran out on your life, the police can't help you out. Here..." Lorenzo pulled out a business card from his breast pocket and slid it across the table, "He's a Private Eye that deals in such situations. He's helped us out a couple of times, so he's good at what he does. If you have anything.. anything... that points to your brother being in some sort of danger, just call 911..."

                                                  Lorenzo ended this conversation back sucking down ALL of the Coke in the huge glass. Turning towards the kitchen, he flagged a waitress.


                                                  "Check please!"

"Men will spend two hours searching for a golf ball."

Quote:
OoC Sorry that it took forever.
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DoctorNikolaiJamesWells
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The blonde male's jaw relaxed slightly. His bottom teeth fell away from the top set and his eyes narrowed. It wasn't an angry reaction nor an irritated one. He was simply confused at why this officer was signaling for a time out. Had he said something wrong? Did he misspeak or use double talk in his speech? No?

Nikolai didn't break eye contact from this stranger. The psychologist of sorts followed the male's mannerisms analyzing them quietly in his head. Body language was not his forte but he could catch the gist of what was going on here. It seemed to him that his blonde dinner companion was having difficulty believing him and was needing more assurance. He relaxed slightly as he was asked if Havoc had been taken against his own will.

He continued to eat pausing to think how to word this. He had been expecting this. "No he was not to my knowledge taken anywhere against his will. This still doesn't change the fact that he has seemingly gone missing in all senses of the word. " He didn't like where this was going. Why did he even bother? This man wouldn't be able to help him. A tiny portion of despair began to form in his gut. He was even beginning to lose his appetite, but his hands worked away lifting the grilled sandwich bits and his thin jaw moved to swallow the food that now tasted like cardboard to him.

He pulled the card the male passed him to the lip of the table and cupped it in his own hand reading it wordlessly. "So until I find physical proof that he is in trouble... I suppose that isn't completely unreasonable. I can't send officers of the law on wild goose chases without probable cause even if it is possible by the time me or this private eye here find out what is going on he'll be dead." He smiled pushing his plate away. It was only half eaten but his tongue felt ashy and numb. He should have never brought this up. He winced slightly as the male called for the check.

]"Thank You officer. Terribly sorry to bother you during your break. I appreciate the information.... I suppose." Nikolai could feel his face turn hot and red from embarrassment. He didn't like feeling stupid, and that is what this situation made him feel. His fingers tightened around the business card and he pulled out his wallet not asking for the check. He had the costs all calculated in his head He put down an extra twenty dollar bill for good measure of course. He got up from the table abruptly feeling like he was going to be physically ill. Nikolai had always been great at working himself up over stupid things to the point of illness. He pushed past a couple people to get outside keeping his head down. When the icy air hit him he realized he had forgotten to put on his scarf. Ignoring this fact he turned into the alley and pressed his hands against the wall for some balance. Something hot and steamy was forming a bile up in his throat threatening to come up the rest of the way.
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my hands won't come clean no matter how I wash them
Location: Cafe
Mood: Tired
With: Lorenzo

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