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The Prince; Machiavelli meant that as a parody.
Topic Started: Oct 20 2011, 10:14 PM (136 Views)
Detective Youngblood

2:30PM. Blustery. Rain clouds overhead.

Youngblood watched the skies as he wandered down the shopping district. Having walked this road many times before, he missed every crack in the road without incident. Weaving through the crowd with a distinct expertise, the detective held up his arm to deflect a line of barreling youths, thinking at the last second to admonish them for running - but by the time that idea ha formed, one of the boys had already tripped and scraped his palms.

The detective swooped down and hoisted the youth up by the arm. He reached into his trenchcoat and revealed a first aid kit. He sinply applied some Neosporin and shooed the rascals. Those whom had paused to watch looked away as Youngblood met their curious gazes.

He continued down the block, turning at the light. After he crossed, the crowd began to thin out. Few people lingered in this district; only those with special clearance had permission to be here.

Youngblood dropped a package in the mailbox and quickly about-faced.

Soon he was swept back up into the crowd, the flow carrying him towards the bitter aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.
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Isaiah Voclain

Isaiah, unlike most, found himself comfortable in nearly all sorts of social settings. He found it pleasant to be able to hide among larger bodies of people, and he also thought it amusing how attention was more easily gained when human traffic was less. For now, however, he craved a happy medium.

With a smile on his face and a light spring in his step, he weaved through the crowd on the sidewalk with the occasional tip of the newsboy cap to a passerby who might catch his eye. The less than favorable weather didn't do too much to dampen his mood; why should anyone else have been unhappy? It could get so dreary in these colder seasons, honestly. If everyone let atmospheric conditions affect them so, the world might simply stop turning entirely.

He couldn't have that. Oh, dear lord, no. It would utterly cramp his style.

The scent of fresh coffee curled under his nose soon enough; oh, why not? One extra pick-me-up never hurt anything, really. Coming upon the door to the establishment he'd literally caught wind of, he stepped inside and reveled in the warmth. Pleasant. Charming. He'd have to make a note of this place.
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Detective Youngblood

Youngblood slipped into line. He regarded the other patient out of habit, scoping out potential threats. He had always been hypersensitive towards heightened auras of aggression; he could practically taste it in the air. And right now, Youngblood saw a shady fellow in the corner hiding behind a newspaper. He eyed the man, making sure the guy knew that he was watching.

When it came to his turn, he ordered, "Small coffee. Apple fritter." Youngblood paid with cash and stepped aside to wait for his drink.

Once again he looked around. He never felt truly safe.

Maybe it was just him. Or maybe the mayor had something to hide. As it was, he couldn't get close.
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Isaiah Voclain

The shadowy stranger wasn't the only one who was apparently keeping an eye the detective. Isaiah had noticed that rather familiar man the moment he'd come in, although his attention wasn't paid with any sort of ill intent. No, he simply found himself curious about this man he'd had the pleasure of catching sight of here and there. The stern aura was unmistakable, a polar opposite to his own and the yin found himself oddly drawn to this yang.

Isaiah waited for his own order as well; a cappuccino and nothing more. Seeing the man step away from the counter, his smile renewed.

"Ugly weather, isn't it?"

Small talk never hurt anyone, right?
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Detective Youngblood

There were half a dozen other people whom could have been the recipient of that question. Youngblood hazarded a guess and eyed the two women standing idly by the counter. Neither of them looked up. Offhandedly he glanced at the men: One walked up to one of the ladies, another started off towards the bathroom, the third grabbed his drink, and the fourth let out a yawn.

The detective cleared his throat before glancing over his shoulder.

"I've seen worse. Try being caught in the middle of a blizzard."

He didn't expect the conversation to continue after that. Surely it'd peter out on its own. There was nothing quite as icy as the literal mention of it.
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