A chameleon sinner had been running through hell from one building to another, hoping to spot feathers, sharp claws, hell, angry shouting, anything, finding him at all would've been a miracle.
The building had been empty. No vehicles in sight. Everyone had been gone. There were no cameras that caught what had happened, because they were a fucking moron who didn't think to check ahead of time how to track him if his comm went offline.
But Holt was strong. He was capable. He always got out of tough spots. He was just blowing off steam at the bar, or the club, or, or...
The bar had everyone but him. He was absent from the club. He wasn't at his apartment, he wasn't at the shops he frequented, but he had to be somewhere, the next place they checked, he had to be there, he had to...
The longer they went on, the less they believed it.
They weren't going to be able to find him. They failed to do their own fucking job and got him hurt or worse and now they couldn't even track him down, how much of a goddamn failure could they-
Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of fighting somewhere up ahead. A street fight? Likely, those happened literally everywhere. It sounded nearby, and...
...they abruptly realized they had been leaning to one side. Half a step away from leaning on a wall out of exhaustion. If they were caught in a fight like this, then...
They ducked into the nearby alleyway, so they wouldn't be spotted. Wouldn't get caught in another conflict.
Their eyes were stinging, and they wiped furiously as their own face. Not now. Not now!
@cyphers-are-unneccessary
It was just supposed to be a quick thing, a grab and go so to speak. Well, grab, pay, and go. There's no way they were going to get in trouble just for a couple of delicious sugary treats. Their mouth waters at the thought. Some stress relief mixed into a tiny gummy shark mold. Sure, they could find the non-shaped gummies, but whats the fun in that? Besides, people know better than to touch their gummy sharks, if they were anything else, people might mistake them for something they can take.
A yawn seems to overtake them as they lean against the alleyways surface, a calculated risk. The usual sounds of Hell's chaos echos in the background. It all seems to distant to them, like background noise while they wait impatiently for their dealer to show. Their foot taps with familiar stimuli to keep them from pulling their hair out.
They check their phone, the dealers late.
" Fuckin' piece of shit i swear . . . " They seem to mumble to themselves as their foot tapping increases in speed.
They continue to mumble profanities as they lazily scroll on their phone out of boredom. This dingy alley doing little to stimulate their mind as they try to continue their waiting.
As foot steps approach, their mind registers the potential occupancy of their dealer. They blue eyes land on the figure. Dull teal shaded scales catch their attention.
Their blue eyes squint, stuffing their phone back in their pocket, ready to defend if need be . . . The erratic movement of their eye wiping makes the sinner raise their eyebrow, careful to stay put. Their mind cautioning them. They've met many addicts in their life, and afterlife. So when they see erratic movement, it's usually a tall-tell sign.
" . . . Hey, " They cautiously call out, making their presence known.
" You alright there . . . ? "
