Royal Government his fucking dick.
Who was going to tell him what his life was going to be?
Anybody else-just not that pathetic excuse of a wrinkled old fart-that's what.
It was supposed to be a quick ten minute, twenty at the most, trip for him. Or it had been every other time that they used that spot.
Being one of the other many hand factories around that were long abandoned.
He pulls his hood over his (h/l) (h/c) hair more, hiding his face as he hears the following rushed thumps behind himself.
Taking off, he ran at full speed across the wet and muddy concrete ground. His long black cloak flying behind him.
"Hey-stop right there!!"
He laughs loudly as he continues. Harsher than a lightning strike away from them.
Why would he stop just because they told him to?
Especially with all the trouble they had been causing him.
He huffs, using one arm to throw himself over a man's cart that was blocking the constricted alleyway ahead.
The fool was attempting to sell fruits, rotten fruits.
If he had to guess... They used to be apples.
Still, much too bruised and dying to tell what they were when they lived.
Such is the Underground, and the life he lived there.
Stealing what he needed and taking jobs where he could... Or was it the other way round?
"-Mppfh!" He hummed as an older gentleman that the young man barely recognises catches his arm.
Ducking the young man behind his stall.
He was hidden, for now.
He takes this time to adjust himself and his belongings.
Wait for the MP's to clear and get back to the den.
That was the plan.
Trying to reserve his energy as much as possible until he had to move again-he watched the older man's face.
Can't stay here for long.
Had he known the trip wasn't going to be the quick score he'd expected he would've worn his multi-dimensional gear. Being an older model than the quick things he'd been hearing about among the whispers of the place recently, it worked well enough. Not to mention the rest of his gear, mostly the deep black and worn leather covered metal boots. They weighed him down a little.
Their upsides being they were incredibly useful for all of the moves he pulled in his everyday life.
In times that he used the terrain to leap, jump and throw himself where he needed, or more wanted, to be.
Not that he wouldn't have been quick enough even with them for some random MP assholes.
As of now he was left completely and utterly barefooted against the harsh shimmering stones and dirt below.
He usually was, to be fair. Never in his life had he owned shoes other than those boots.
Only buying those for himself recently as he saw them.
They were quite enjoyable to him.
Considering he grew up treading broken glass, needles and atop the rest of the Underground's lost and broken thing, the entirety of his feet were covered in rough callouses and scars of varying length, shape and size due to this. His toes were stronger and more spread apart, having been trained to be used in movement over all of the years that he had grown up.
Feeling the intricately folded papers in his pocket he's careful not to crinkle either of the packages.
One was much bigger than the other-both being fairly small.
