with. – @rfjofficial where. – hyde park. when. – march 25, late morning.
The rain is quiet, barely a whisper against the top of Nana’s helmet as she walks beyond the gates. A quick scan and there are familiar faces, gazes downcast. She feels something stir in the pit of her stomach. Leon comes to mind for a brief moment, but she’s pushing it away before she can make out the lines in his face-- worn from years of wear. She has a job to do, and any focus lost would be possible blood spilt.
Nana takes off her helmet and tucks it beneath her arm. She surveys a group of civilians who have their hands full of pigeon feed. Gaze sweeping the perimeter, she notices Rafael at the start of the trail, three of her best with their backs facing him from a few feet away.
Her gaze slips quietly over him, assessing for any injuries. She notes the puckering of his knuckles, though absent of blood.
“Unbelievable,” Nana chastises the men in close proximity. Their shoulders don’t tense, nor do they show any confirmation that she’s in their company. “You’re not hurt?” This shouldn’t have happened. She knows it, Rafael knows it. There never should have been an instance in which Fletcher Gray got close enough for Raf to smell his cheap cologne. “May I see your hand?”
