Post by Lovino Vargas on Oct 19, 2014 5:56:29 GMT -8
With each new running step taken, Lovino's speed slowly dwindled - along with his resolve and spirit to keep going with the chase. He'd run for what, ten minutes straight by now, and yet he wasn't any closer to catching that goddamned prissy feline than he was when he started. All he'd gained was a few thousand blisters on his feet, a sore throat from agitated, uncontrolled breathing and a pair of dying lungs no longer able to take in oxygen - oh, and yeah, he'd also managed to piss off at least half a dozen people by brushing past them in his rush and he'd lost the cute, feisty girl from earlier; he'd glanced behind his back multiple times, but there wasn't a trace of her in sight anywhere.
Goddamnit, had she actually listened when he'd told her not to follow? Really? The one and only time he actually counted on someone to disrespect his authority as an officer, she went and obeyed, disappearing from his life just like that, without a second thought or a word of goodbye? Freaking really?
That was so damn sad that Lovino couldn't hold back a dry laugh, one that teetered dangerously on the edge of being hysteric. Great. Awesome. Perfect. This was exactly what he'd hoped for when he got the job as a police officer; an uncanny ability to attract clients needing help with their small bitch-ass pests and all the skills needed to repel attractive members of the opposite sex in the matter of minutes. Whoever said that a uniform could get you laid with more guarantee than a perfect six pack of abs must have either been mental or a model. Probably both, because Lovino himself couldn't even get a date and he made it a point to bring his uniform with him for every opening of an envelope he was invited to in order to gain some positive publicity. But no.
Speaking of envelopes though, wasn't that a mailbox he was about to run int- shit.
Without a moment wasted, Lovino pushed his heels onto the asphalt below to stop himself just before his lower body smashed against the misplaced letter container in front of him. The least he needed now was public humiliation and actual physical pain to accompany the mental anguish he was struggling with. Luckily, if nothing else could be said in his favor, he had fast reflexes. You had to be when you dodged figurative (and sometimes not-so-figurative) bullets for a living.
With that threat done and over with, Lovino coughed and bent his back to examine the mail box as if that had been his intent all along, in order to mislead the suspicious, amused gazes from passersby. He tapped at his chin, mumbling to himself like he'd been hard at work looking for clues. And, once his close proximity to the box had been normalized enough to make people focus back on whatever the fuck they were doing before he became the circus monkey, Lovino straightened his back and grinned in victory - for a second, anyway.
Because it turned out that while he was busy going through each and every dent in the mail box, his target had continued scuttle off somewhere where the officer couldn't see. And in an instant, the victorious grin on the Italian's face turned completely upside down into an angry scowl - which, in turn, soon melted into complete and absolute panic. All the pedestrians seemed to become gray and irrelevant to the man's vision as his eyes darted around the streets, heart pumping blood into his brain to try and push it to its very limit. There was a sinking, heavy feeling rolling around painfully in his stomach, and Lovino was glad he hadn't had money for breakfast, lest it soon decorate the streets.
Come on, he begged, desperation bleeding out from every pore of his being. All he needed was one small glimpse of the cat so he knew which way to go. Anything, a piece of fur, that bastard's droppings, anything at all. Goddamnit, he could not - would not fail at the first task given to him in ages. No, it wasn't a particularly important job and it would probably not earn him any praise after completion, but there was a pretty lady for that cat and by gods, he would see to it that the asshole was returned to her embrace.
So come on, please, anything, just... at least a-
Lovino's eyes widened before he could finish that thought as the very tip of a bushy white tail entered his peripheral vision a split second before it disappeared behind a busy street corner. Lovino's heart jumped and kicks-tarted his feet into another burst of adrenaline and hurry. There was a god. There was a God and apparently He wasn't averse to listening to the pleas of sad little Italian men on the prowl for kitties.
A grin returned to the officer's face once more. Ha, he knew it, like that asshole pussycat could have avoided him for long. He might have not been the guy you wanted to hire for a kidnap-catching gig, but he's chased so many small animals in his life by now that he deserved a medal for it; or maybe two. Now he just had to turn the corner before the cat could disappear. Come on, feet. Run. Fucking run.
And he ran, body twisting to turn behind the corner before his eyes even had the chance to readjust themselves to the new angle his body settled to - which, on a busy street corner in the middle of the day led to the exact result one would expect; he crashed head first into someone, the force of it sending him forward and to the side until cold asphalt greeted his face with a less than welcoming slap.
There was blood. Probably. He wasn't sure, and he sure as hell didn't have time to check, but he could taste the irony liquid on his tongue. So his nose was probably busted. Didn't matter. He had a job. And so he sprung upward like on springs, coughing and throwing a quick glance at the stranger he'd collided with.
"Police matter, please refrain from getting in the way! I'm chasing down a very fucking vile terrorist asshole before it can danger any more people," Lovino blurted out, half of it spoken like a true professional, half of it just an outing of his feelings towards the damn cat. He had to warn other people about the cat. Had to make sure nobody else got involved. Aaaand he had to continue his chase. Fuck.
A quick tip of his hat and Lovino dashed back on track, breathing heavily and keeping his eyes strictly fixed on the few millimeters of fur he could still make out at the horizon. And as he ran there, sweating and bleeding, his brain brought him a very late image of the girl he'd crashed into. And holy fucking hell.
She was a real looker.
Too bad she was probably half a kilometer behind him by now, most likely shaking her head and thinking him crazy.
That's how it always went.
Goddamnit, had she actually listened when he'd told her not to follow? Really? The one and only time he actually counted on someone to disrespect his authority as an officer, she went and obeyed, disappearing from his life just like that, without a second thought or a word of goodbye? Freaking really?
That was so damn sad that Lovino couldn't hold back a dry laugh, one that teetered dangerously on the edge of being hysteric. Great. Awesome. Perfect. This was exactly what he'd hoped for when he got the job as a police officer; an uncanny ability to attract clients needing help with their small bitch-ass pests and all the skills needed to repel attractive members of the opposite sex in the matter of minutes. Whoever said that a uniform could get you laid with more guarantee than a perfect six pack of abs must have either been mental or a model. Probably both, because Lovino himself couldn't even get a date and he made it a point to bring his uniform with him for every opening of an envelope he was invited to in order to gain some positive publicity. But no.
Speaking of envelopes though, wasn't that a mailbox he was about to run int- shit.
Without a moment wasted, Lovino pushed his heels onto the asphalt below to stop himself just before his lower body smashed against the misplaced letter container in front of him. The least he needed now was public humiliation and actual physical pain to accompany the mental anguish he was struggling with. Luckily, if nothing else could be said in his favor, he had fast reflexes. You had to be when you dodged figurative (and sometimes not-so-figurative) bullets for a living.
With that threat done and over with, Lovino coughed and bent his back to examine the mail box as if that had been his intent all along, in order to mislead the suspicious, amused gazes from passersby. He tapped at his chin, mumbling to himself like he'd been hard at work looking for clues. And, once his close proximity to the box had been normalized enough to make people focus back on whatever the fuck they were doing before he became the circus monkey, Lovino straightened his back and grinned in victory - for a second, anyway.
Because it turned out that while he was busy going through each and every dent in the mail box, his target had continued scuttle off somewhere where the officer couldn't see. And in an instant, the victorious grin on the Italian's face turned completely upside down into an angry scowl - which, in turn, soon melted into complete and absolute panic. All the pedestrians seemed to become gray and irrelevant to the man's vision as his eyes darted around the streets, heart pumping blood into his brain to try and push it to its very limit. There was a sinking, heavy feeling rolling around painfully in his stomach, and Lovino was glad he hadn't had money for breakfast, lest it soon decorate the streets.
Come on, he begged, desperation bleeding out from every pore of his being. All he needed was one small glimpse of the cat so he knew which way to go. Anything, a piece of fur, that bastard's droppings, anything at all. Goddamnit, he could not - would not fail at the first task given to him in ages. No, it wasn't a particularly important job and it would probably not earn him any praise after completion, but there was a pretty lady for that cat and by gods, he would see to it that the asshole was returned to her embrace.
So come on, please, anything, just... at least a-
Lovino's eyes widened before he could finish that thought as the very tip of a bushy white tail entered his peripheral vision a split second before it disappeared behind a busy street corner. Lovino's heart jumped and kicks-tarted his feet into another burst of adrenaline and hurry. There was a god. There was a God and apparently He wasn't averse to listening to the pleas of sad little Italian men on the prowl for kitties.
A grin returned to the officer's face once more. Ha, he knew it, like that asshole pussycat could have avoided him for long. He might have not been the guy you wanted to hire for a kidnap-catching gig, but he's chased so many small animals in his life by now that he deserved a medal for it; or maybe two. Now he just had to turn the corner before the cat could disappear. Come on, feet. Run. Fucking run.
And he ran, body twisting to turn behind the corner before his eyes even had the chance to readjust themselves to the new angle his body settled to - which, on a busy street corner in the middle of the day led to the exact result one would expect; he crashed head first into someone, the force of it sending him forward and to the side until cold asphalt greeted his face with a less than welcoming slap.
There was blood. Probably. He wasn't sure, and he sure as hell didn't have time to check, but he could taste the irony liquid on his tongue. So his nose was probably busted. Didn't matter. He had a job. And so he sprung upward like on springs, coughing and throwing a quick glance at the stranger he'd collided with.
"Police matter, please refrain from getting in the way! I'm chasing down a very fucking vile terrorist asshole before it can danger any more people," Lovino blurted out, half of it spoken like a true professional, half of it just an outing of his feelings towards the damn cat. He had to warn other people about the cat. Had to make sure nobody else got involved. Aaaand he had to continue his chase. Fuck.
A quick tip of his hat and Lovino dashed back on track, breathing heavily and keeping his eyes strictly fixed on the few millimeters of fur he could still make out at the horizon. And as he ran there, sweating and bleeding, his brain brought him a very late image of the girl he'd crashed into. And holy fucking hell.
She was a real looker.
Too bad she was probably half a kilometer behind him by now, most likely shaking her head and thinking him crazy.
That's how it always went.
