Sin título

Akira leans back in surprise, his bewilderment clear in his expression. The stranger simply turned, raising one hand above his head in a backwards wave as he walked lazily out the door.

Something didn't sit right with him about their conversation. He'd clearly recognized the description of the map as Akira had given it. His immediate denial about any knowledge of the map... there was no doubt. He knew something.

He kicks his seat back, its legs scraping loudly against the smooth flooring as he burst out the door. He snapped toward the sound of rapid footsteps at his back to find the retreating figure of the man from the bar skirting quickly around the corner.

"Bastard!" He curses, sprinting behind him.

Rapid fire questions blur through his mind as he runs, keeping the vision of his back within view as he dodges foot traffic through the intersection, a ship screaming past just inches from his chest. Why would he lie? Had someone tipped him off? There was no chance he'd known his face beforehand, if he had he would've peeled out the moment he walked through the door. He must have the map on him.

"STOP!" He shouts as he gets close, thrusting a hand out in front of him. Dragon-Tattoo flits to the side, avoiding his grasp and changing directions.

The alley they run down now is less populated, steam pluming from water drains on either side that obscure his view. Dragon-Tattoo grabs the edge of a garbage bin and topples it in front of him, spilling refuse into his path. He vaults it, hardly losing momentum, and he smirks when the guy curses loudly. His sprint turns frantic as he starts looking for a new escape route.

Gotcha.

He grabs him in two strategic places. the small of his back where the cross of a shoulder hostler offers him a perfect grip, and his shoulder, his finger pads digging harshly into his skintight shirt. He cries out as he hits the ground, but it's hard to determine whether it's from pain or fear.

"Sorry, friend." He growls, replacing the hand on his back with his knee, earning another groan from him as he began searching his pockets. "But Kempler reeeeally wants that map."

He raises his head, craning backward to look at him with wide eyes before scoffing, his chin hitting the pavement with a dry chuckle. "Shit..."

"Where is it?" He asks, more to himself than to the man with the Dragon Tattoo, but as he brushes his hands down the sides of his pants, feeling the thin fabric hugging his ribs... "Where's the map?"

"I'm so sorry," He wheezes, not sounding sorry at all, "but I don't have what you're looking for."

"Then why did you run?" His gaze lowers, the cocky smirk that had formed disappearing. He says nothing.