he's wound tight, a bundle of nerves overflowing with tension and something vaguely resembling caution and anxiety, the same anxiety that has been plaguing him as he flew nameless and safe under the radar for the last few days. but safe had never been him, caution thrown inevitable into the wind.
in the midst of chaos, is him. he's been caught, there's nothing surprising about that. the cigarette in his hand and between his lips does nothing to settle the hot tension crawling under his skin, filling the space around him with smoke and scent, distracting, but not helpful enough to make him want to relax. they're feet away and he has no where to run from here.
his behavior is predictable at best and people always seem to track his movements because he never bothers to cover his loud tracks, like a neon sign painting steps toward all that faded seafoam green hair and chipped fingernails, maybe it's why gang members and people with ugly vendettas are able to find him when he thinks he's laying low. he doesn't go out of his way to look for a fight or maybe he does and he's simply good at self-denial, they come to him. he knows he welcomes it.
he's not good at hiding like this, never would be satisfied with choking constraints holding him down. the growl escaping from his throat is animalistic and wild. he reaches around the corner ---
there's a flash of metal, of something white, and he dabs his cigarette out against it, grasping onto their arm, gaining leverage as he pulls them down to the ground beneath his feet, stomping across shoulders, skull, anything he can get to crumble underneath his boot. he's on the move again, the shouts and gunshots behind him feel distantly far away, he knows otherwise when warmth, wet spreads across his cheekbone. a flesh wound. adrenaline pumps through his veins. the idea that this could end badly for him does not even shift into his mind. it's parkour that allows for him to move through these narrowed alleys and streets, moving around objects with a single ease.
he doesn't think, never does, when he slides through an opened window, landing onto his feet and falling roughly onto his hands.
