No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be. The only one for me is you.
Josef Soltini has been mistaken for a helper parent by a teacher in charge of a summer field trip. Someone has actually left him in charge of a group of children while she goes to check on another group. He's not entirely sure what's going on. One minute he was standing in front of a building, waiting for one of his contacts, and the next there
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Not that the Doctor would say that everyday house cats aren't special... Actually, he would say that. He doesn't think there's anything all that remarkable about house cats, though he doesn't dislike them, either.
It's all neither here nor there, really.
There's a wild cat chasing a squirrel, and it's caught his interest. He walks over and sits down in the center of the largest chasing 'area'. He'll then put on his glasses, place his elbows on his knees, lean over enough to rest his chin on his palms, and watch.
At one point, the squirrel looks at him. "I wouldn't stop for a rest if I were you." Then, he waves at the cat. "Hello there!"
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Then it wouldn't be Chicago, would it?
Now there is someone telling her she shouldn't stop chasing a squirrel that doesn't want to be chased? Rachel turns around, and glares, giving the squirrel plenty of opportunity to scamper off for good.
She snaps her jaw and sits up straight.
There is a very unimpressed cat glaring at you, Doctor.
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When the cat sits up straight, so does he.
There's a bit of a staring contest going now, and he's had some practice at not blinking, he'd like the narration to point that out right here and now. As he stares, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his sonic screwdriver.
"You're rather interesting, aren't you?" He says this very much like he expects Rachel to answer. There's a strange noise, then, something between a buzz and a hum as he presses a button on the screwdriver.
A small circle of blue light lands directly in front of Rachel's paws, and he moves it about. "Are you too upset to catch the pretty light?" He doesn't think she's too upset. If he were a cat, after all, he would want to catch the pretty light.
Buzzhummmmmm. Around and around it goes. Where it stops...well.
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There's a moment of startled realization when the blue light hits her paw.
Oh, no.
No, no, no--
It's instinct. She jumps up and down, trying to catch the light because apparently that's the thing to do when you're a cat.
Rationally, Rachel wants to stop and hates everything but no, Rachel!cat has gone nuts and just wants to run around until she's snatched the blue shiny.
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She sees Wes first, and then her eyes move up slowly to see the rain cloud overhead.
It's not that she wants to smile about this. She doesn't. Rogue's actually really proud of herself for not laughing, but there is the tiniest smile working at the left corner of her mouth. The first time she met him, something was following him overhead. It seems to be a thing.
Walking over, she waves a bit, then stops about five or six feet away. "Hey there," she says, raising her voice a bit to carry over the downpour. "Havin' a rough day, sugar?"
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He's attempting to shove the cloud away when he hears a voice that's become so very familiar to him over the past year.
"Hi there, Rogue. I'm just havin' a swell day, thank ya."
He smirks at the sight of her, placing a hand on the low of his hip, bowing his head.
"Go on. Laugh all you want. I know you're just dyin' to."
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When he smirks, she's unable to hold herself back from smiling, but there's only a small chuckle released.
"I don't wanna laugh," she denies, grinning all the while. "I'm just wonderin' what it is about you, darlin'. You just can't seem to stop havin' nature follow you around." There's a wink, as she can see perfectly well what nature (or anything/one else, for that matter) sees, but hey.
Suddenly, she whirls around, then turns back slowly, her hand over her heart. She breathes out, obviously relieved, and shakes her head.
"Well," she says seriously, looking at him with the straightest face she can muster. "I think the birds are gonna leave you alone today, at least. Looks like you get t'keep that ...fancy summer cooling system all for yourself."
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"Sure you don't, can ya turn around, please? I'm just curious to see if those pants are on fire."
He sighs, actually considering her statement. In his mind, it's a perfectly legitimate one. Things do seem to follow him around for whatever reason.
He's a good man! A hard working one! This is incorrect.
"I can breathe easy then, considerin' birds and I ain't the best of friends. I don't want this cooling system. I've been keepin' it to myself all day. If I could share I would."
He scowls at it very, very darkly.
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Nothing worked, and crazy ladies would lunge at him and proceed to play tonsil hockey with him.
It was a very trying day, and in retrospect, he much prefers the raincloud.
"I don't got any reason for anybody cursin' me, so I'm guessin' it's a Chicago thing. Rift spits up all kinda things from time to time, ma'am."
Yes, Anya, Wes actually just called you ma'am. It's a southern thing.
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Somehow, Anya would believe this wholeheartedly.
"Are you sure?" Anya asks, not unkindly despite wrinkling her nose at being called ma'am. To her, ma'am is associated with old women, and while Anya may have age, she likes to think she doesn't look as if she does. "I've noticed this, but in my experience some m - people don't know what it is they did wrong."
Irony, thy name is Anya. Way to go about judging a guy with a raincloud over him.
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Oh, Chicago. How you test his patience.
"And what experience has that been? Because I'm aware of my own faults and what I've done wrong and none of it has warranted this."
He points up to the raincloud. Scowling at it. Like he do.
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Of all the things in the world he might expect to see, his nephew standing in a sea of obnoxious, snotty-nosed children? Is not one of those things. They're in public, for crying out loud. Someone might think he's a father.
Josef doesn't even appear to be holding a knife or a gun.
It's very disturbing. He can only imagine that this is some form of torture. Children, after all, are torture. They're vile little packages of 'loving vomit'. Nikolas is not a fan.
When he takes a closer look, he sees his nephew's face, and this makes everything seem better. The world seems brighter and more pleasant.
Josef, after all, is miserable and close to losing his shit.
Helpfully, Nikolas leans down and motions to a little girl doing what can only be classified as a Pee-pee Dance. "You should go tell Mr. Soltini you need his help finding a bathroom." She looks up at him, all wide brown eyes and awe, and nods before sprinting over to Josef to tug at his arm.
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Josef might be scarred for life. He tortures and kills people on a habitual basis, and yet he has no idea how to deal with these tiny creatures that keep swarming around him.
It's disturbing. He's glaring at them and trying to explain to them that no, he has no fucking clue when the bus will be coming to take them back to wherever the hell they're at.
Camp. That's what kids do in the summer, right? Well, normal kids. Josef was learning how to best aim for the jugular in the den of wolves he once called family.
The little girl--she's got to be younger than all of the other brats--sprints over to Josef, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer. "Mister! Mister! I have to pee."
Josef stares at her. And stares. "I don't--"
"But I have to pee." "Yes, I realize that, but I--"
"I HAVE TO GO POTTY AND I HAVE TO GO NOW."
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He leans against the wall as the little girl runs over to Josef, then yells that she needs to 'potty'.
There is an attempt to remain quiet, of course, as it's much more fun to observe something like this than to participate. However, it seems a bit of interjection might be needed.
"I'm certain," he says in his 'nice' voice, "that Mr. Soltini will be more than happy to lead you to the restroom." His head tilts to the side. "Don't worry, Josef. I'll be happy to keep an eye on the friendly little group until you return."
Looking down at one of the brats, he smiles. "Do you like cyanide? Duct tape?" The little boy picks his nose and shrugs. "There. You see, Josef. We'll be fine. Go help little what's-her-name -" He looks at the girl, who is now holding onto herself and hopping in place.
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His head lifts up at the very familiar voice, and the expression on Josef's face is only barely veiling its contempt. "I'm certain that Mr. Demidov is actually the one who knows just where the restroom is."
Josef looks down at the little girl, making a face as he...pats its head. Yes, Josef just called a little girl 'it.' "
She does not stop hopping momentarily. Only hops over to Nikolas to look at him with wide, expectant eyes. A few more minutes and she'll burst, Nikolas.
Josef is just scratching the back of his head hating everything.
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He's back in his green-and-white striped lawn chair, though he's moved it over to sit behind a car.
Over the hood, he is watching through his binoculars, and the occasional clink of the binocular lens against the ugly glasses can be heard easily. He watches Rachel as she looks at the pictures and sighs. This, too, can be heard easily. It's a loud sigh.
If her shoes were another half-inch taller, that outfit would be perfect... There is another loud sigh now. She's a clever one, this woman. It's obvious Braeden has his work cut out for him in freeing Rob-Rob from her evil clutches.
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Until she hears that sigh.
Her eyes narrow into tiny slits before she turns around, gaze zeroing in on the lawn chair.
Those shoes do not need to be a half-inch taller, Braeden. They're knee-length boots that sit very comfortably exactly where they're supposed to.
She marches over to him. "What do you think you're doing?"
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He thinks she looks like an angry she-witch, and there's a softer sigh within his soul that admits that she's more of the type from Witches of Eastwick than Wizard of Oz.
Also? He insists that a half-inch would make ALL the difference.
"I was sitting," he says, his tone indignant. He's wearing his ugly glasses disguise, after all. He can afford to be brave in the presence of the she-witch. "Are people not allowed to sit? Are you going to prosecute me for sitting?" If Braeden had longer hair, there would've been a hair-toss insert there. As it is, it's an irritated shrug.
"Your boots are too short." The wouldn't work at all if she was standing next to Rob-Rob.
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She's as cold as a statue, her glare narrowing even further.
If this is Robin's stalker, then her worries should be of an entirely different nature.
And then he actually disses her boots. He did not just diss her boots.
"I'm curious as to how you know I'm a prosecutor. And before you come up with an inane answer that doesn't remotely resemble what's pathetically obvious here, I suggest you look at your own glasses before you start disparaging my boots first."
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