It was rare for Godfrey to take such a path to get to his destination, the local museum of modern arts, but just days before his old timer had broken down, probably too overwhelmed by the extreme cold that had struck the country. So now there he was, calmly seated in a crowded subway, filled with stressed out workers and even more students. Ah, sometimes the deity was lucky to never had to attend any school on earth.
So far his day was going smooth, this morning he had finished his latest painting that he now clutched to his chest, trying to keep it safe from the crowd that was just very slowly dissolving with every station. Never in his life had the deity delivered a piece of his art with the help of public transport, the whole situation a bit dangerous for his painting. It was reliving once the tall male got out of the subway, some people shooting him glances at the underground, school girls chattering and giggling at the sight of the handsome male who sometimes was able to be mistaken for a model. But Godfrey took no interest in that for now. Sure he was a proud man who always liked hearing a compliment here and there and who had actually no problem about his body, but right now getting his painting to arrive safe and sound at the museum was the most important.Â
Walking towards the stairs, the elder had not noticed someone following him, ignoring the few shouts that sounded like someone had gone insane. Well, there were many strange human beings on this earth so Tsukiyomi was not surprised. It was only when the voice came closer that the deity actually made a halt and turned around, sharp silver eyes displaying confusion when set on the girl. Was she talking about him? And even worse, was she actually accusing him of thievery?Â
 Flushed cheeks (for her physicality had always been weak, even if only a few seconds were spent sprinting), Lucia doubled over attempting to regain control over her breathing, coughing and spluttering foolishly all the while. There was a point in time she was convinced that she was asthmatic -- untrue of course, but it meant she could avoid physical education when her 'asthma' flared up. In actuality the lack of exercise (minus walking and swimming) had never allowed her lung capacity to develop, preventing her from escaping -- and in rare cases like this chasing -- other beings.
Waving her hands in a frantic manner, a bid to motion for him to stop or something of the sort (when in reality, she looked like a maniac), she began to regain a portion of her composure, straightening up once more. Her breathing had yet to regulate, and she struggled to swallow the deep breaths of air without choking. It would be wasteful to let him slip away now; partially aware that she had captured his attention the desire to not lose it lead her to an asinine idea.
Kicking one of the scruffy Oxfords off her foot, she swooped down and grabbed a hold of it, waving it in the air like some sort of patriotic hero waving their flag. "Your shoe, it thieved from me!! The sole-- check it." Each word was emphasized by the intake of sharp breath before it; somewhere along the line she had began to jump up and down, arm spinning around like some sort of windmill. Her actions were clumsy and more than once did she knock her own footwear against her forehead.
Still, she persevered, signing to the strangers on the stairs, the pitch of her voice rising to one which dolphins communicate with "Return what your footing stole, good sir or I shall--" She stopped mid-sentence, the rosy hue splayed on her cheeks darkening from the dawning realization of how she had conducted herself; the shrill sound ringing in her ears , serving as an alarm. All this fuss over an unusable band-aid -- how terribly humiliating.Â
