Seems to Free His Mind At Night [Clyde]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

Contrary to popular opinion, Peacekeepers did occasionally have time off duty. It just wasn't good practice to force those who carried guns to work all the time. Locke preferred it though, and he hardly ever went without his uniform, even on his own time. He needed them cleaned, though, and between a seam tear and a disastrous wine stain, he was out of uniforms for one night, which he'd planned to coincide with the end of his patrol. He had nothing to do on the morrow but collect the items, and that made him ancy. He spent no more than a few minutes in his apartment before he was out again on the streets of Six.

It was a cool night, breezy but tolerable with the thick coat he had acquired. It was fur-lined and Capitol-made, just the sort of thing Locke liked. The exterior, though, he had ordered to be made out of plain fabric, despite the show owner's protests. It was a dark plaid, subtle and nearly invisible in the dark, which suited him. He lifted the collar around his chin, and had paired it with simple slacks and his black boots, which were well hidden and hardly distinctive anyhow. Who looked at a Peacekeeper's boots?

They clipped familiarly as he walked, first along the market, and then around the Mayor's house. He found himself circling wider and wider, into the alleys of the district, where he normally only went with his Alder gun and white jacket. It was exhilarating to be anonymous, to have no one pause when he passed. He liked it for awhile, until a drunk rammed into him, and said nothing at all except to belch and carry on. No, Locke didn't care for that at all.

He turned another corner, and found himself in an alley he didn't know as well. Dark doorways and a solid wall bookended him. Locke kept his hands in his pocket, his stride carefully measured, but he was on alert now, straining to see. There were other people - bums, most likely, the sort he never dealt with - but he couldn't be totally sure. It was too dark and so late, and he should've brought his gun.

banner credit: bad nana rising
lyrics: adema giving in

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Clyde Duval

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Night. Clyde had once heard it quoted that the freaks came out at night. He resented that quote. In his opinion, the opportunists came out at night; those who had real work to do. Going on nightly excursions was the best way to make a dishonest living. As he made his way around familiar haunts, one might have looked at his face, and seen something below his ever-present bored facade. Yes, this night Clyde was not just out and about for the purpose of getting some quick cash, no, This night Clyde found himself utterly...

Perturbed. Distracted. Bothered. Uneasy.

In other words, Clyde was not feeling like himself. In fact, he hadn't been feeling like himself for the past few days, ever since a certain lady of the night had simply vanished without a trace. It was not uncommon for people to turn up missing in District six, but Charlotte Blair was not a common person. No, she had actually listened to his plan wrought of boredom and daring. This Charlotte had seemed very willing to help him achieve his goal; and she was attractive to boot.

However, what truly bothered Mr Duval was the manner of her disappearance. A jaunt around the area he had first met her in had proved fruitless; and the other girls of that profession seemed not to know or care. What could have taken her? It was possible that she had reaped or something similar, but, no, a game had just ended recently. Then of course, an outlandish thought struck him. Perhaps she had had a run in with a fierce serial killer and was now a meal for his cannibalistic palette... either that or she was caught in the throes of his passion. What a strange thought.

At any rate, the most likely outcome was that she had been carted away to the Detention Center by an irate Peacekeeper, and that troubled him most of all. Those who were taken to that place returned... different. If they ever returned at all. He shook his head as a chill traveled down his spine. Perhaps fleecing someone would take his edge off. Ah.. speaking of which, a shadow was making it's way through an alleyway. Clyde quickened his pace until he caught up with the shadow, and, as the shadow was not wearing a uniform of sorts, he bumped into the person, deftly scooping his hand into the left pocket of the pants.

[/size]"Scuse me."He muttered, before casually walking away. Once he got around the corner, he'd be able to check on his bounty.[/justify][/blockquote]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

There was just enough activity in the dark alley that Locke couldn't focus on just one sound, just one set of footfalls. And they were quiet, anyhow, he would tell himself later. The first inkling he had was a sort of pressure, and then a mumbled apology from a ghost. He just barely saw the figure turn the corner as he stopped mid-stride, forced his boots into perfect alignment. What had just happened? He took a mental snapshot of the interaction, and first went for his coat. Nimble fingers felt up the zipper, but there was no gap up to his collar, which would have been impossibly inconvenient. Next his pockets, but his hands had been in those, and then to his pants.

Oh he was missing something alright, and good luck to the son of a bitch who had taken it from him. He was still gripping the back pocket, palm over his own ass, when he started forward and flexed his fingers. Those blue, blue eyes darkened to the night as he hurried after the criminal, clipping the corner and coming into better light, just enough to see the silhouette and determine that it was a male. A boy who was about to be very sorry he was out of bed at night.

Locke didn't say anything until he was practically on top of him, and he was very quick, but he was certainly not as stealthy. Once he was within arm's reach, Locke cleared his throat, quite purposefully, the annoying sort of sound that came from high in the throat. "Excuse you," he said, and it had all the colors of politeness. "I believe you have something of mine. A little metal container?" And the light was just yellow enough to pick up the deep sea blue of his eyes as he came up on Clyde's right.

banner credit: bad nana rising
lyrics: adema giving in

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Clyde Duval

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"Stealing, you'll go far in life. Actually, there is something funny about getting away with it."-Mike Judge
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Once again, Clyde thought, his quick thinking and immeasurable wit had resulted in an increase to his monetary gain. Whoever he had just relieved funds from was sure not to discover the theft until it was far too late to do anything about it. This was the life. Clyde felt the need to give himself a congratulatory pat on the back.

Huzzah.

Clyde kept up a brisk pace as walked; As he was anxious to get somewhere a bit less exposed, he failed to register the soft footfalls that slowly increased their volume and intensity. It was when the voice spoke that Clyde decided that something was definitely not going as planned. Clyde turned to see a pair of very blue eyes, eyes that belonged to a voice that sounded rather annoyed. It was not the words, but the tone that made Clyde consider that perhaps he had made a most grievous error.

Authoritative was the adjective that came to mind. However, the words held import as well. Clearly, this was the man he had just pick-pocketed. Clyde avoided eye contact and fixated on the mans boots. The polished, shiny, meticulously clean , black boots.


...




...



Crap.


And so, after shooting a bored yet fearful look at the probable Peacekeeper, Clyde found himself hurtling down the street in a desperate attempt to escape.

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[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

He could have handled it better. After all, it seemed to be in perps' blood to run when the situation got sticky. Still, he couldn't help a groan and a swipe across his full, satisfied belly. He hated putting leather to asphalt after dinner; it was one of the reasons he rotated of evening duty, even though it was by far the most interesting. Morning was for running, exercising, whatever - before he gluttoned himself over meat from Ten. But, it seemed that he would be forced to add another kilometer to his daily tally.

Locke lifted a slender knife from his belt, so thin it was hardly more than a toothpick, but it worked as a razor. He held the blunt side against his palm as he took off, arms whipping by his chest, his form lean and sharp, perfectly held and proportioned. There was nothing graceful about the way he moved, but rather a precision that could be beautiful. His breathing lifted, leveled, his body ready for another long jog around the track.

Except that he was flying through the night, dodging trash and not exactly dodging the bums. The thief was fast, though, and clearly also in reasonable shape. Locke chased him through the wending alleys, sweat crowning his forehead before he finally came alongside Clyde and shoved him into a wall. "Don't run - just hold up." Locke spoke through the panting, his blue eyes never leaving Clyde, even as he bent to catch his breath.

As he did so, the knife came into the yellow light, glinted gold. "I'll need to see your identification."

banner credit: bad nana rising
lyrics: adema giving in

[charade]

Clyde Duval

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"Stealing, you'll go far in life. Actually, there is something funny about getting away with it."-Mike Judge
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Huffing and puffing, Clyde resolved to do more cardiovascular activities in the future. To be sure, he was used to sprinting when he had to, but this mad dash was far more taxing then the usual disappearing act. He made a turn here, and a hop-skip there, making his way through the back alleys of his district. Why? Because he had missed a detail. A small insignificant detail that even now, was pounding the pavement behind him. Surely, the peacekeeper behind him had just clocked out for the night. It would explain the absence of a uniform. But regardless of the mans choice of attire, Clyde berated himself for going into the situation too fast.

Clearly, Charlotte's untimely vanishing act was weighing more heavily on his conscience than he would have cared to admit.

Bricks.


A wall made of bricks to be exact.

To be exact, a wall made of bricks is what entered Clyde's field of vision as his frame was slammed against it.

Ouch.


The gruff voice commanded him to show his identification. What a novel idea. In Clyde's experience, his wit was the best defense against those with strength. And pointy objects.

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"Yes. My good sir, might you please indulge me and divulge your identification? Who are you to abuse me so? As well, what is the reason for the manner of my current predicament?"[/justify][/blockquote]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

I look forward, to dying tonight, drinks till I'm myself,
life's harder every day

They were running and turning, the fox after the hare. Locke did his best to mark the turn by visuals, but it was hard in the bleak night to recognize anything. He hadn't been trying to force the prep into a dead end, but it worked out that way, and he'd tell his superior it had been a part of his plan. "Pure dumb luck" never sounded quite as good in the official report, after all.

Locke was grateful to see those bricks, though, that impenetrable wall. He was even happier when the thief rammed into it full speed, although he couldn't say he would have done better, given the low lighting and the adrenaline of the situation. He only slowed when he saw the man bounce back, a sack of flesh knocked around by rock. Locke skirted to a stop, breathing heavily but not necessarily panting. It was an even in and out, a whooshing of controlled breaths from his diaphragm.

That was about the only thing he was in control of, at present. He may have cornered the man but that didn't mean much, given that it was a one-on-one scenario. Furthermore, he had a bit of valuable property. Locke very briefly considered his options, realized he had none, and then folded his arms over his chest. "Matter of fact you actually have my ID in your pocket." Locke nodded at him. "The box contains everything you'd need to know about me. And soon it'll contain everything anyone needs to know about you. Check it, if you like."

And he felt the knife in his palm grow heavy as he held it along the length of his ribs.

banner credit: bad nana rising
lyrics: adema giving in

[charade]

Clyde Duval

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Now, while Clyde was more inclined to decline the Peacekeepers proposition, as the man had yet to really inflict any true bodily harm upon his person, Clyde chose to acquiesce to the request. Sure enough, the I.D. In question was found to be in his pocket among other small items that one generally found within ones pockets;money, after dinner mints, and a copious amount of lint. Clearly, the lint was born of Clyde's own pocket, for he would have remembered grabbing a fistful of lint. Deplorable. Clyde made a mental note to be more careful about cleaning his clothes.

Wouldn't you?


Anyway, the name on the card was Nightlocke Helmsby. The writing was accompanied by a small picture of the taciturn peacekeeper. Truly, Clyde had stepped in it big time. Nightlocke continued to stare at him, breathing evenly and calmly. What made this unnerving was the situation. For, if not for the knife, and the unblinking stare, Helmsby could have just asked him for a stick of chewing gum. It was not a friendly demeanor that Locke exuded, but one of... Well, Clyde really couldn't place it. Suffice to say, the talkative Duval lad found himself without anything to remark.

Wordlessly, he proffered the pilfered pocket contents to Locke, and leaned back, unsure of what would happen next. It was too much to think that he could just be let go, not after... What would be charged with? Stealing from a government worker? Resisting arrest? Or some crime that he hadn't even known he'd committed? Clyde peered morosely at Helmsby.

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"I suppose this is the part where I disappear." Clyde said in a resigned tone. There had always been the chance that his antics would catch up to him. And, indeed, he had finally slipped up.

"I should never had talked to Charlotte in the first place."He sighed under his breath.[/justify][/blockquote]