❝ THIRTY MINUTES?! ❞ And with that, her hair became quite animated, waving and twisting like a flag in the breeze. She thought too soon, this situation was quickly getting worse. Just how long had she been wandering?
Taking yet another deep breath, she attempted to calm herself for probably the millionth time today. ❝ …I apologize. ❛ Thirty minutes ❜ really caught me off guard. ❞ She did short breathing exercises to calm her stand down at least, which worked for the most part. Although it still moved, this movement could once again be blamed on the wind.
❝ Okay… Thirty minutes isn’t too long, I walk pretty fast as well… ❞ she said more to herself, her voice trailing off as her eyes wandered and landed on two familiar looking men. She briefly thought back to where she’d seen them, and remembered that they tried to approach her earlier that day.
She was being followed. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse.
❝ I hate to be a burden and ask you this, but could you escort me to my hotel? Preferably a route with a lot of twists and turns? I don’t want to alarm you, but I believe I’m being followed by two men. ❞
The instinct is to take some kind of defensive position, hands jerking upwards in the hopes that if her distinctly unnatural hair is a stand that decides to go for him, he’d be able to do something about it. Moody Blues remains safely secreted away, at least, but Abbacchio only regains his composure when she relaxes slightly. “The hell was-- yeah, I can see it certainly caught something.”
Damn, everyone’s weird. He’s not going to catch a break any time soon. “You’ll live.” Half an hour isn’t bad at all, why she’s so worked up about it is entirely a mystery. That should be the end of it-- but it isn’t.
Abbacchio doesn’t seem alarmed in the slightest when she says she’s being followed. No motion of surprise, only a flick of his gaze towards the individuals who the girl’s attention stopped on. Not anyone he actually knows, and while his second or two of glaring does make them act as if they’re not doing anything relevant, Abbacchio isn’t entirely certain that he’s scared them off with a scowl. If it was definitely Passione members they would be very easy to shoo off without a scene, but an unknown group or just some street thugs are more of a hassle.
His frown deepens. If he does nothing and she ends up dead, another kid on the news, high school student found murdered, that would cause a whole debacle. And the debacle would be annoying (meaning: the two more noble members of the gang would be vexed about it and then Abbacchio would be guilty, on top of whatever mild guilt his moral compass is capable of). “...Yeah, alright.” A concession. “Walk with me, then.”
And so he turns and sets off with a wave, doing the grace of not walking too fast for the girl without appearing as if he is too concerned about this entire endeavour. “If they try anything, I’d expect that hair nonsense of yours to be a help.”
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