sixwordstories | (no subject)

[And that fence happens to be the fence to the all-too-fancy preppy institution that Uncle Mycroft sends his nephew to for fencing lessons, so Greg will be on his way out when he sees Richelle vaulting a fence.]

... You look like you've done that a lot.

( her knees bend to absorb the shock from the rather impressive drop, and it's not until she straightens herself up, richelle realizes who it is she's just ran into. )

Like they say, practice makes perfect. ( there's a solitary police siren ringing out that passes by the property without a thought- only chasing ghosts now.

her hands brush at her torn jeans, clapping off dust before her surroundings are taken in. )

... Holy fucking posh, mate.

[His eyes follow the sound of the siren as it fades down the street, and then back to her, an amused look on his face.]

Spot of trouble, then?

Observant, aren't cha? ( she combs her fingers through her hair, all wind tossed and blown about from sprinting through london alley ways and streets. )

I'd assume you'd have more delicate sensibilities, what with being here. ( gestures to the building behind him, all too prestigious and ridiculous. )

Ha ha ha.

[He rolls his eyes and nods to the exit that leads out on to a side street and not the main road.]

The police aren't completely daft but I've met enough of the blokes from the yard to know they're stubborn. In case they come back this way, you'll be fine leaving that route.

You know people in Scotland Yard? --Y'haven't even asked what I've done yet. You could possibly be implicating yourself in a murder, mate. ( her eyebrow goes up- she's kidding, of course, but Greg's fun to tease. )

I'd never end up in jail. Not long, anyway. I'm going to say you stole something or vandalized something. Murderers don't run. Murderers hide in society and even when they're caught they go quietly because they're still terribly guilty or they're pleased they're being recognized.

Well aren't you educated on the subject.

I've got my moments.