Time every journey to bump into you, accidentally...
WHO: Nikolej and Yekaterina.
WHEN: Monday afternoon (August 31st).
WHERE: Wandering Baroque Street~!
WHAT: In which Nikolej gets a new "girlfriend."
Whatever anyone will say, it wasn't his fault.
For posterity, he hadn't been chatting up a lovely little redhead at some cosy, overpriced café. Nor did he buy her an Orange Dazzler or whatever it was the nauseating shade of tea had been called (this place was the sort that had every type of coffee bean and flavour of tea coming out your ears, but god forbid they have just a cup of black coffee or proper tea tea). And yes, he could safely say that he did not have the number of one "Becca" expertly tapped into the contacts on his mobile. All in all, Nikolej was an innocent man, caught at the wrong time, wrong place.
His hand had just merely, accidentally fallen onto this woman's knee, you see.
Or at least that was the back-pedaled, charmingly delivered spiel he had tried to foist off onto her boyfriend, a man that had to be at least a foot taller than he was (and Nikolej considered himself to be rather on the tall side, as it were), with shoulders twice as broad as his own. By Nikolej's imagination, The Boyfriend looked descended from Grendel, provided that Grendel was real, and had not died off in a swamp somewhere like a miserable bastard. He wiggled his fingers at him in a playful wave. It was about there that he stopped being mildly amused and started to panic: Grendel's great-great-great-great-great... more greats.... great-grandson was severely devoid of a sense of humour.
He also wanted to crush his cranium as finely as a cup of coffea arabica. Which was about the time when that delicate tenderness in the cartilage of his nose brutally throbbed, a reminder of the strange fights in that abandoned warehouse earlier this week, and his brain kicked into self-preservation mode. But he didn't run away, no, he retreated - which is a far more manlier way of saying, he ran away. And Grendel gave chase, huffing and puffing right at his heels and swearing up a storm.
Chancing a look over his shoulder, Nikolej rushed right into something. Or rather, someone. By nothing short of a miracle did he not completely bowl over this poor... this poor... He straightened, panting heavily as he brushed a lock of hair from his now faintly sweaty brow. This poor... set of gigantic breasts. He gawped openly, frozen in mid-step, barely noticing the heavy sound of approaching footfall. When he managed to tear his eyes away from her, ahem, assets, and noticed her face, she became vaguely familiar. There was that creepy psychiatrist around town that had, from what he gathered from the grapevine, a sort of unsavoury reputation. He was almost positive that her breasts face was that of Dr. Braginsky's sister.
Aha! Lightbulb over the head. Eureka.
The necessary adrenaline was still singing in his veins, but part of him, an important part, registered relief at this tadlet of solace. A wide smile affixed to his face, he swiftly slipped an arm round her dainty shoulders and whirled around to face the angry man behind them.
"Now (puff) if you would just calm down (huff) you could let me properly explain, like I would have (puff) back there." There was a vague gesture down the street. "I couldn't have possibly be hitting on (huff) your girlfriend. I already have one... Isn't that right, babe?" He looked down at the woman, smiling winningly whilst giving her and her breasts an undeniably pointed look: just play along, please.