Long Lost Strangers [Private;King]

BUT WILL I CREATE OR DESTROY?

This was utter hell!– old fashioned sandals rattled against the cobble-stone ground loudly, echoing as he forced his way through people while attempting to apologize briefly for the rather disrespectful shoving. Its not as if he could just shout for help. Even if he did, it wasn't like anybody would bother with the intimidating display of taller, larger and obviously dangerous men that pursued him in evident anger. Before getting himself associated with his guild; which had now unfortunately been shut down, he had gotten involved with a rather troubling group one night while playing poker.

Not having any sort of sense as to what he was ever getting himself into; he of course, cheated these four as easy as it was to read. He left with their money quickly that night, proud of himself for being able to play them. But, it was to his assumption that the bartender he thought of as a friend, had ended up being a snitch instead. Bastard!– he'd grit his teeth together, irritated with this outcome. He had been so excited to spend the night drinking and meeting a few woman from Hosenka, but his neglect for any danger in the lively town had nearly gotten him beat up. He was glad he could run so well in this outfit; though it was still a bit of a nuisance.

He'd hear them running behind him, turning a sharp corner down another long street with tiny shops layered on either side. Bright blue eyes would glance over to see how far away they were, but, in that brief moment, his figure ended up colliding with another. A warm substance– guessed as a drink, crashed upward and onto the expensive and rented yukata that he wore. "Tch." he didn't want to pay for the damages, but it was to late now. Usual worn and necklace of importance slipped by the inside of this garment, loosely hung around his neck. The air was slightly knocked from his lungs as he staggered by the one he had bumped into. "Sorry." he'd mutter, about to continue his escape.

BUT WILL I CREATE OR DESTROY?

Just as he was about to continue his struggle of escape, a rigid grasp latched itself to his shoulder; forced closer to an obviously taller and larger frame. Did they reach me!?– he'd feel his heart leap into his throat, peering over at the one who had seized him. There was relief in the fact it hadn't been any of those goons; the fear that ate away evoked by their footsteps drawing closer and closer. Atlas struggled against the man, confused and in panic. "P-Please let go of me–!" his voice shook just barely; severed by the stern tone that resounded from the other.

I'm scared!– he didn't want to think about what those men would do to him if they caught him; something humiliating perhaps? That seemed likely. Even as he'd endeavour to slip from the unyielding hold of the man, dragged off and over into the direction of one of the shop stands, he was silenced by the simple gesturing of a "hush". For a moment lashes of silver fluttered in surprise, unfamiliar with being so obedient; even to a complete stranger. No– it wasn't obedience. He was just startled; but why? Shoulders tensed as the shouting drew near, returning to the misfortune of his reality.

Thankfully, because of their shelter, the two hooligans had dashed straight by the unoccupied stand. He'd exhale in relief, momentarily unaware of the still larger hand that held onto his own. There was still that restlessness of nearly believing it was going to be the end for him, but the comfort–even for an absolute stranger–managed to ease him just enough. "Uh..." now that his line of sight had wandered to the chest stained by coffee; there was a wonder if this older man just wanted him to buy another cup of coffee– or worse, a new outfit. He already had his own to worry about.

"I'm sorry, I'll pay you back." he'd pause, gesturing to his hand still caged by the possession of the other's own, "You can let go... I'm not going to run away." –probably. He'd often lie about that, but he didn't think it was really possible to outrun a third angry man. Even when the outlook on what might happen to his source of money after this–would only be enough to buy cup ramen. "If its a new shirt, or a new cup of coffee; I'll get it. Just don't hurt me." gaze would lower, almost nervous in the hold of this unfamiliar face. "T-They're going to come back," he'd mention, almost as if comprehending that fact at this very moment, "I can't stay here." again the youth was beginning to panic.