forum In the mood for an RP, and oh boy do I have some prompts // CLOSED // OxO

Started June 13, 2020 by @PaperHats business

tune

Anderson was late. Terribly late.
Still, the mayor hadn’t showed. Which was odd, since it had already been roughly twenty minutes. However, right as his watch struck twenty-after, the man took to the stand. From his look-out point, which was just a nearby balcony of an apartment, DD could see a few reporters taking up the front— their cameras pristine and ready.
Anderson had always had good eyesight. Which was nice, because although he had been commanded to stay within the crowd, he had a perfect vantage point from above. It was an unused apartment, for-sale, actually, and it provided a beautiful encasement of the public gathering.
He was wearing standard clothing. A light purply-grey shirt with a black jacket and heavier slacks. In one of the pockets of the overcoat was his badge— a prized possession he swore to never lose.

As the speech dragged on and his answers began to lack flair, Anderson’s vision wandered again to the crowd. He took out his receiver— a little phone-like device used to contact headquarters— and flipped it between his fingers, leaning on the railing. With a sigh, his amber eyes finally rested on his target.
Her name was Abigail Aster, the reporter for that one news company he often kept up with. She was relatively pretty, at least in her portfolio files at the grounds. From here it was difficult to tell defining features, but from the dark hair and olive skin, it was apparently her.
He watched as she maneuvered her way out of the crowd. Odd to see, since the speech wasn’t over, but Anderson didn’t blame her.
In a split second, his eye caught on someone else. A different figure, face clouded by the deep shadow of his dark hair, almost following her out. It did it discreetly, and quite well, might he add, to the point where he wasn’t sure if this was even her follower or not.
Deciding to send his suspicions to CHC, he flipped the receiver one last time before pressing the button to record. However, his finger slipped, giving him a split second of a near heart attack before it fell to the ground with a menacing CRACK.
It wasn’t big enough to cause a scene, so many may not have noticed and he could just scale down and pick it up and be on his merry way. However, it fell directly in front of his target.
He was just happy it didn’t fall on her.
Quickly he jumped over the railing and onto the fire escape, skimming down the stairs before landing before her, feet flat on the ground.
Anderson’s face held no sense of bashfulness as he picked up his broken receiver, slipped it in his pocket, stood up straight and proud and muttered, “Sorry about that. It didn’t hit you, did it?”
He was certain it didn’t, but he had to make sure. It was these uncertainties that made him who he was. That is— quite a nervous person.
DD gave a small smile, a sort of kind and comforting one, however it held a pang of anxiousness. He was told under no circumstance was he to talk to Aster, however this seemed like it could pass under the radar. Right? As long as he wasn’t seen any other time… right?
At lest he didn’t see the other figure anywhere anymore. Maybe it was a good thing, maybe a bad thing. Although, he had other things to deal with now.

Abbie looked up from her camera as a boy appeared in front of her. She could’ve sworn he wasn’t there a second earlier. She took a step back as he scooped something off the ground and shoved it in his pocket.
“Uh…no, it didn’t hit me.” She looked up at the apartment building she was walking by. “I assume it wasn’t supposed to.”
Their eyes met and Abbie got a better look at him. He was kinda cute, with blond hair hanging in his face and a comforting grin. She couldn’t quite decide what color his eyes were. He also looked vaguely panicked as if he had done something wrong and once again she had no idea where he had come from.
“Sorry, you caught me off guard.” She tucked her hair off to the side and put her camera back in her bag. “Uh..who are you and what almost hit me?”

He gave off a slight nervous laugh as his face reddened involuntarily. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Especially conversing with the target. But what was he supposed to do now? Turn away and just stalk off? He was a gentleman before anything else… or at least, he tried to be.
His clouded thinking subsided as he met eyes with her again and held out a hand to offer a shake.
“I’m… Derek Boultler,” he said hesitantly. It was a name he had made up to tell people while he was on the job, especially those with close affiliations to whomever he was “guarding.” Although, up until now, he had never had a reason to use it.
“And, uh, what I dropped?” he began, starting to fiddle with his fingers. “It was just my re— wallet. Just my wallet. By accident.”
He patted his pocket reassuringly.
“Anyway, I must be going,” he said quickly, the words escaping his mouth before he could say anything else. “It was, eh, nice meeting you Miss Aster— shi— I mean— It was nice meeting you, stranger.”
Before he could dig himself deeper, Anderson pivoted on his heels, turning to stride away quickly.

Abigail stood and stared as "Derek" started walking away. The name sounded real enough but the way he said it sure seemed fake. Plus, he had definitely started to say her name.
"Hey!" She tried to catch up with him but Derek was walking surprisingly fast. "How do you know my name?"
Abbie grabbed the back of his shirt. "Answer me!" She yanked him closer. She didn't like not knowing things. It made her nervous that she might be missing out on something that she could learn. The situation was too interesting to not follow up on.

Anderson coughed and spun back around, his hands out in front of him in a sort of praying motion. But as he faced her, he pointed his fingers toward her, taking a deep breath in.
Racing wasn’t a dramatic enough term to explain what his mind was doing. More like… rocketing at hyper-speed to find something to say.
She’s a reporter, was all his mind could tell him. So he went off of that.
“I’ve read what you’ve written in the paper?” he said, although it sounded like a question seeking confirmation. He gave another light laugh, averting his eyes to the crowd, then back to Abigail.
And endless line of profane language rhythmically thumped around in his head, each and every word pertaining to himself and the situation.
“I just didn’t want to seem… like a creepy fan, so I, uh, quickly ‘corrected’ myself.” He let his hands fall and adjust his jacket. “Sorry about that.”

Abbie wrinkled her brow and her jaw dropped in disbelief. She had been a reporter for two years and never had she met a fan. Do reporters even have fans? It would explain his awkward behavior and how he knew her name.
"You're a fan?" She had to admit she was flattered. Reporters didn't usually get much positive recognition especially not from the public. "I mean… thank you, I guess."
Then she came to a sudden realization.
"I don't want to accuse you of anything but…y-you haven't been following me around, right?" For a few weeks it always seemed that someone was on her tail… watching her. Derek looked normal enough but then again even Ted Bundy was just a normal young man.

Because it was the truth, and only because, he had no issue in denying the fact. He hadn’t watched her before— it was his first day, after all.
“Oh, of course not. Unless you count me attending social gatherings for my own sake,” he said, his tone mixed with pure honesty. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to lie his way out of this.
“But I’ve never blatantly followed you around,” he said, perhaps taking an even bigger drill to this hole he was digging.
Deciding to keep on with the previous narrative, DD continued.
“I’ve just been interested in your work. The truths you uncover are fascinating, and your… writing is.. impeccable.”
He raised an eyebrow, hesitant to see her reaction. From up closer, and in the flesh, he was right. Her portfolio files didn’t do her justice. Her eyes were a beautiful mix of hazel-y green and gold, and Anderson found himself at a bit of loss for words. However it wasn’t unusual for him.
His face never ceased to return to its normal color, his cheeks staying that light pink and his heart beating quite quickly.

(I'm sorry I disappeared for two days, I was having some tests done at the hospital)

Abbie released a sigh of relief and a little bit of the stress that had been weighing down on her had let up. At least she wasn't being stalked.
"I'm so glad you enjoyed it." That was genuine. Nobody had ever complemented her on her writing alone and it felt like a little accomplishment.
Derek blushed and her heart did a little flutter in her chest. He was awfully cute and she ought to ask him for his number. She tried to think back to the last time she had done so. Months. Maybe even a year?
"Hey, I don't really do this but… could I get your number?" After saying it she immediately started panicking. "I could use someone to look over my stuff before it get published," She sputtered out not wanting to be too forward. If he really was a fan, he could be very helpful, plus, he was easy on the eyes.

(Don’t worry at all, always take all the time you ever need :) Are you alright, if you don’t mind me asking?)

Anderson let out another nervous laugh, continuing his fiddling with the bottom of his jacket. His heart rate sped, not knowing at all what to do.
Give her a fake number? He couldn’t. Not after he had professed such… interest? If that’s what you could call it.
Just turn around and walk away? Also a no.
But— if he just gave her his number. His personal number, he’d be alright. Right? She wouldn’t have to know about the agency, and the agency wouldn’t know about the contact. Given that the agency was… well… an agency, it seemed sketchy. Though at the moment, it seemed that was all he could do.
“Ah- y- sure,” he stuttered, not sure if he was more nervous about the girl in front of him or the repercussions of doing what he was about to.
With a moderately shaky hand, he pulled out a pen and a small piece of folded paper. Knowing not what it was even from, Anderson ripped off the corner of it and wrote down his number in quick but neat “lettering.”
“Now, I really must be going,” he said, trying as hard as he could to sound casual. Although his sort of outdated speech was enough to tell he was anything but casual.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Aster. I- um- look forward to your call.”
Without another blink, he turned and began to walk away somewhat hastily, as if a dog were biting at his heels.

Abigail took the note and tucked it in her bag as he walked off. That had been a nice turn of the day, if not a bit strange.
She hadn't even gotten to say goodbye before he speed walked around the corner. Maybe he's just an anxious person? Honestly, she was a little surprised by how flustered she had gotten in front of Derek. Usually, she had very good control over her reactions.
Her apartment was a few blocks down so she crossed the street and walked along with a few other people who had chosen to leave the assembly early.
While walking, she took out her camera to observe the photos she had taken of the Mayor and the crowd. For the most part they looked pretty normal but something was bothering her. In the corner of some of the frames was a person in dark clothes with their face hidden. This wasn't unheard of at protests but it seemed kind of odd for a public assembly. Either way, she would probably have to cut the person out of the photo because of how out of place they looked.
The sun started to set and as the streets got darker and her nerves worn thin, she looked back at person in the photos. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she could've sworn he was staring at her.

(Yes, I'm all good. Nothing to worry about. Are we thinking a time skip right here?)

Anderson paced across the perimeter of his apartment, only stopping when he was about to run into the kitchen counter. He couldn’t eat. Sleep. … Relax, in general. What if the agency found out about this? What if CHC kicked him to the curb? Or maybe they’d understand because he was new… right?
March finally shook his head, taking a deep sigh. It was much later, the sun fully below the horizon and leaving Anderson to bask in the warm orange light of his single-lamp apartment. He didn’t own much, just a couch, bed, some other furniture, but no decorations. Everything was clean and pristine, almost like no one even lived there. But he just cleaned often to keep himself from worrying. Today was one of those days.

Abbie lived in a studio apartment over a Chinese restaurant. She had a combined bed, couch, and chair and the rest of the studio was used as workspace for writing and processing the photos.
"How was the assembly?" She was on the phone with her editor in chief, Emily Scott. "Anything we don't already know?"
Aster sighed. "It was astoundingly boring. Very little noteworthy other than the crowd itself."
"Were there a lot of people?"
"A lot of people and a lot of them angry," She paced by her desk. "I'm glad to know that they care but it's a little scary, the power of the media."
"You get used to it," Emily assured
"I can only hope." Abbie sat down at her desk and scrolled through the photos.
"Hey, whatever happened to that story on the local mafia? You seemed pretty into it but I never heard anything more about it."
In short Abbie had actually made great progress on the story but she got a little nervous when one of her sources reported that the mafia was responsible for over twenty deaths, one of which had been an acquaintance of hers.
"Just didn't lead anywhere. I don't know what I was expecting." So she lied.
"Hm… well what are you thinking on the follow up? Is there anything to report?"
"Not really." Abigail stopped on a photo. The one with the hooded person apparently staring at her. "Well… there was one thing."
"Yeah?" Emily questioned.
Abbie look at the photo a moment longer. Even when she brightened the image, the figure's face still wasn't visible at all. It was unnerving. "Nevermind, it was nothing."
"Really? Well you gotta find something to pick up quickly. Deadline is Wednesday."
"Yeah I know. Thanks for calling to checkup."
"No problem. Goodnight." The phone hang up and Abigail was once again alone in her apartment. She examined the photos once more before turning off the computer and climbing into bed.

Anderson let out sort of like a whimper mixed with an aggravated growl as he pushed his palms up against his eyes, breathing deeply.
Although, he finally came to terms that hours of thinking probably wouldn’t solve his problem. Maybe cutting ties? Trying to avoid Aster? That’s what he would do.
He didn’t have the ability to call her and sever them there, so he’d have to wait until she called him, and he could cancel whatever she planned because he was “busy” or “working” or “didn’t have time.” Yes, that seemed foolproof.
He sat down on his couch, tapping his fingers on the arm of it, bouncing his leg and just generally being unable to sit still. He closed his eyes repeatedly, each longer than a blink, and took deeper breaths. Within a while he felt much less… nervous.
He would get this resolved. No matter what. He’s had a plan, even if it wasn’t a good one, it was still a plan. Right? Yes. Things would all be ok.