#thread 004

how big is this damn city?

she'd been walking for what felt like hours at this point, taking trains and busses and all manner of transportation. at this point she seemed to be in a completely different part of the city, though from the map on her phone it looked like she was the complete opposite direction from where her living quarters were.

i knew i took the wrong train maybe i should have stayed with melusine

a long, drawn out sigh as she's resigned to her fate, about to turn around and head back to the train station before she noticed something, someone, familiar. it was the hair that was a dead giveaway, and a color she knew to recognize instantly. melusine had said master was in this city, but jalter hadn't the slightest idea on how she was going to find her.

must be my lucky day

she almost sprints to the other side of the road, peaking into the window of the cafe to confirm her eyes were not deceiving her. her look of disbelief soon turned to one of joy, and before she could calm herself down to look like her cool and normal self she found herself blurting out loud enough for anyone behind the glass to hear.

Old friends are everywhere - around every corner, behind every door - and Icarus has had enough of chance meetings in the clamor of Heteraidia. When he reaches out to Mino it’s with the quiet hope that perhaps he can do it right this time, the reconnecting. Perhaps purposeful action, deliberate contact, will smooth the turbulence of ten years of separation.

He’s early, but he’s always early these days. Another thing that’s changed since they last saw each other; the Icarus that Mino knew in Arcadia was a student, a dreamer, a boy who was late as often as he was on time regardless of the occasion, but now he is a man with duties and responsibilities and a public image carefully crafted ( by other hands as well as his own ) that leaves no room for tardiness. So here he is, slipping into his second-favorite cafe and offering the manager a handshake loaded with enough drax to ensure some measure of privacy.

There’s a pot of coffee and two mugs on the table when he reaches it, and Icarus is mid-pour when he hears a familiar voice. Stands, turns, and there he is - face changed in a hundred tiny ways by the intervening years, but still instantly recognizable, still a welcome sight.

“Mino! C’mon, sit - you want coffee? This place has some of the best in Olympe; couldn’t tell you why, they use the same supplier as most of their competition, but something about it...” He trails off, suddenly unsure of himself. Unsure of where he stands, in this interaction, and that’s the heart of the thing isn’t it? Icarus is used to knowing what other people think, what they see when they look at him and what they expect from him, but Mino’s expression is unreadable, their knowledge of each other so far out of date as to be useless.

Nana has always maintained that whilst the care she puts into ensuring the safety of those around her, that there is no nurturing sentiment that is to be linked to such actions. So when she finds herself considering, for only a moment-- the addition of Kitty’s favorite drink as well as her own, she shakes the thought immediately. There’s no reason for a house call to be aligned with that of soft conversation, not in a time like this. So Nana finishes her drink quickly and takes her bike to Kitty’s residence. 

The camera had been knocked out of service prior to Leon’s disappearance, and while it could’ve been an accident on behalf of an animal, or even Kitty herself, there’s no room for gaps in security. Not when whoever had taken Leon was still at large. 

Day old rain water presses beneath Nana’s boots as she makes her way up the small walkway to Kitty’s apartment. The door is open, and before her stands the woman she’s there to assist. Though it’s overcast, Nana wears sunglasses to cast aside questions about the bruises that form beneath her eyes-- courtesy of a broken nose and the plunge of Marcus’s fist. 

“....Uuuhuh.” The site was enough to amaze the servant, looking around to see all the lights flickering, to advertise others and draw them into a store. Way too many of them on. Seeing all these lights on in some places, with no one using the sign, made Fran panic just a little. The fact that they are using all this electricity, wasting energy that could be used for something else was unforgivable. 

‒ “NOW, let us only hope that left a mark. That means he’ll remember this for as long as it may take to heal.” She said slight humor in the most serious tone. “You know you have a pretty good punch… maybe you could teach me? I know I don’t LOOK the most intimidating ‒ but really I’m a fast learner.”

Nessarose smiled, making sure to put on a slight face that usually had the ability to convince people of s o m e t h i n g.

finally arriving at his supposed place of rest was, for a lack of a better word, disappointing. of course, he hadn’t expected luxury. he wasn’t a fool, despite how some might have wished to have him seen. he was a stranger, a nobody amongst a sea of others. it was an unusual place to be, rooted at the bottom of a large food-chain, without COMMAND nor ORDER, but he was hardly a stranger to feeling powerless. it had been many years since the strain of the unknown and the unjust had flashed within his chest as an anxious infection, draining him of energy as he finally approached the apartment complex, but he was hardly able to do much about it, with a mere gun at his side which felt more akin to a child’s toy than something deadly & suitable for his needs.

despite having no true power in the form of a rank, something harshly reminded by the tag of NOBODY scrawled across his paperwork, he found that people still recognised a leader when they saw one, often darting aside as he strode, coat billowing black like a shadow behind him, their feet leaving the pavement so that he may walk by. it was always a rather natural trait, wasn’t it? to fear something on mere instinct alone. regardless, he stepped up to the complex with narrowing, cold eyes and a contempt within his gaze which would undoubtedly remain for a while, if the innards of the building were very much like the exterior.

riding the elevator, he marvelled at how simplistic the components were; a handful of buttons with lax security really. anybody could walk in and go wherever they wished, with no need for a pass to be swiped or a code to be input. how exposed, how reckless. was privacy no longer a right? why, even the lowest ranks of officers often had their own coded secrets, locked behind fingerprint-protected rooms. but this was without it all, so open & so incredibly vulnerable. the doors opened, but hux didn’t exit. wrong floor, currently. instead a stranger boarded, input their choice of floor and the doors swished closed once more. 

Before the sun had fully clawed its way over the horizon. Before the camp stirred to life. Before people -- loud, intrusive, alive in ways he had long since stopped relating to -- started filling the space with noise.

The cold bit at the air, sharp and clean, settling into his lungs with every steady breath. The path was familiar by now -- packed dirt, scattered frost, the faint crunch beneath his boots the only sound accompanying him. He didn’t think much while he ran. That was the point. Movement without memory. Breath without thought.

A flicker of movement off to the side caught his eye.

He slowed before he meant to.

Atticus exhaled slowly, already knowing what he’d find before he turned his head.

The dog stood just beyond the tree line.

A German shepherd, same one as always. Tall, broad through the shoulders, coat thick and dark against the pale morning light. It didn’t approach him. Though, it never did. No, the dog only watched him with that same steady, unblinking patience -- like it was waiting for something.

“…You again.” His voice was rough with disuse, barely more than a mutter.

The dog’s ears twitched.

Atticus scoffed under his breath, dragging a hand down the back of his neck. He’d seen it enough times now -- same stretch of trail, same distance kept. Never closer. Never farther.

Persistent.

Annoying.

He should keep moving.

Instead, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling free a strip of jerky -- something he barely touched himself -- and crouched, slow and deliberate.

“Don’t make this weird,” he muttered, more to himself than the animal.

He tossed it a short distance between them.

The dog didn’t move at first.

Then -- careful. Measured. It stepped forward, nose lowering, eyes never leaving him as it took the offering. Atticus watched it chew, expression unreadable, something faintly tightening in his chest before he shoved it down just as quickly.

“Congratulations,” he said flatly. “You’ve officially got better persistence than most people.”

The shift in the air came first -- the faint disturbance of movement behind him, the quiet crunch of footsteps that didn’t belong to him… or the dog.

Atticus' shoulders went rigid.

He didn't turn right away. His jaw tightened instead, gaze flicking once toward the shepherd before settling forward again, posture going still in that particular way that wasn’t calm so much as coiled.

“You can come out now,” he said, voice low, edged -- not raised, but carrying.

' hey you! '

she wasn't quiet about it, almost yelling as she addressed the other. there were plenty of other people around her that she could have addressed instead, out of all the people around her she looked to be one that belonged to this city the least. call her crazy but she felt the only real way to learn about the city was to ask those that were also stuck here like she was.