stormy nights & missing flyers // septipler

.01

Mark adjusted his jacket as he rounded the corner of the living room. In his hand he clutched Chica's pink bandana, the same one she wore when he brought her home for the first time. With his face full of worry, he quickly made his way to Ryan's room, stopping in front of the open door.

"Do you have the flyers ready?" Mark asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Yeah," Ryan replied, handing Mark the flyers, "but Mark, listen man. I love Chica as much as you, but I'm sure she's fine. It's only been a couple days. Who knows, she could be making her way back now."

Mark bit his bottom lip as he counted the flyers. "I know, but I just want her home and safe. She isn't the type of dog to just wander off. Sure, she's energetic, but not enough to just run off."

With a small nod, Ryan patted Mark's shoulder. He shot Mark a quick smile before allowing him to leave. "I'll be back in an hour." Mark said as he made his way to the front door.

The sky was filled with dark gray clouds, allowing no natural light to touch the earth. The atmosphere held a depressing feeling all around him. The slight breeze caused Mark to shiver, holding the flyers to his chest, protecting them. He looked up to the sky, hoping he'd somehow find Chica before she'd be subjected to the oncoming storm. Hoping she had somewhere warm and safe to stay.

Meanwhile, in a nearby major hotel parking lot, stood Jack. He struggled to get his olive green suitcase from his car. He groaned, cursing himself for packing so much. Only a few moments later did he finally make the journey from his car to the sidewalk leading up to the hotel's lobby. He looked around, taking in the busy street life of L.A., the neon signs, and people of all backgrounds passing him by. With a smile, Jack entered the fancy lobby of the hotel.

After being granted his key, Jack spoke up, "Excuse me, but where's the nearest restaurant? Last time I ate was back on the plane in Ireland."

The front desk attendant giggled, "There's a nice retro place a couple blocks away. Anything else I can help you with, laddie?"

"Oh no, I'm fine. Thanks!" Jack replied before making his way to his room. "Am I ever glad I finally got a chance to get away from YouTube and stress for a while." he whispered to himself.

Mark, on the other hand, was driving past the local dog park, hurriedly taping the missing poster of Chica to a lone street light. He felt heaviness in his heart as he watched another dog owner settle his dog into his car, wondering if Chica was safe. Without taking a second look, Mark entered his own car and started it, making his way towards downtown.

He drove with eyes stinging, tears threatening to fall. "God, I hope she isn't here. I can only imagine what the people down here would do to her." he spoke softly, biting his lip as he stopped at a red light. He glanced at the missing posters, smiling as he saw his Chica, holding a leash in her mouth, begging for a walk. He cringed at the bright red words above her, missing.

Jack stepped out of the elevator, making his way to the restaurant the woman at the front desk had recommended. He quickly fished out his phone to catch a simple selfie to post for his fans on Twitter. He chuckled at the fast response of his L.A. fans asking if he'd plan a fan meetup. Sure, he loved his fans with all his heart, but now was his private time.

After crossing a couple of streets and nearly being run over, Jack found his way to the restaurant. "Woah, this looks like something out of Fallout." he laughed to himself as he stood admire the neon red lights and 50's aesthetic the restaurant displayed, the bright red words of it's name contrasting with the dark clouds in the sky above.

Jack was about to enter until he heard whimpering, coming from the alley next to the restaurant. "What the-?" he said to himself as he used his phone's flashlight to look into the alley. He jumped as he saw a movement behind a filthy dumpster. With hesitation, Jack made his way into the alley. Cringing as his sneakers seemed to almost stick to the greasy ground. His flashlight caught the slightest of movements and golden fur.