2007-12-15: Suspicious Gifts 3

Starring:

Fenton_icon.gif Mikhail_icon.gif

Summary: Mikhail has a little trouble finding Fenton, but it all falls in place for the next giving of gifts. Complete with a short chase/race.

Date It Happened: December 15, 2007

Suspicious Gifts 3


Battery Park

Now, here's a problem: one of Mikhail's victims prey listed receivers is somewhere around New York City and he doesn't have their contact info. Getting a present to someone he runs into at random times all depends on chance.

So, in order to see if he can find the one and only Fenton he knows of, the artist revisits the usual spots he's seen him at before. The university, Central Park, Chinatown, some other places— none of them had the skater there. This left Mikhail to his own devices in Battery Park, perched in another tree nook near the local eatery. How he got over here is a good question, but now's not the time to ask.

It's like his stalker senses are tingling. Okay, not really, but it's been a heavy week of finals and Fenton's just happy to be free of it for the time being. Not so bad, he thinks, for the first semester. Quarter. Whatever it is. He'll think about it later after he's relaxed.
Here's a spot he's been meaning to come by for a while, but until now he's not had the chance. The familiar sounds of a skateboard's wheels grinding on the pavement can be heard, Fenton expertly weaving between the sparse pedestrians that brave the chilly weather to be here. His thicker coat's not yet arrived, but he can make do with a couple extra layers, and his pockets suffice for the lack of fingers on his gloves. As he sees the bay ahead of him he grins, able to get a glimpse of that famous Statue, completely unawares of any Russ-asians in the trees.

Beware the Russian ninja.

Ears pick up on the stray sound of skateboard wheels as blue gray eyes sweep over the scenery below (or, a little above the normal perception level) to find out if it is That Person. Indeed, it seems to be true; he recognizes the skater easily by his appearance. Checking his bag, Mikhail leaps down from where he sat, landing and bounding off in the same direction.

Is that the sound of running?

At first the sound is easy to miss due to the noisy wheels and the hollow presence of sound that comes with an open scenery not too far from them. It would have almost been completely missed had Fenton been wearing his earbuds. It's about a few seconds later that he finally notices the sound, a brow arching sharply as he realizes it's getting closer. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder and sure enough, there's someone running in the same direction. Oh. Great. What did he do now? A frown crossing his face, Fenton looks frontwards again and drops down his foot to give another few pushes to start up the slowing momentum. Maybe the guy is just trying to hurry to catch the ferry or something. In any case, the skater doesn't think it'd hurt to go any faster… Juuust to be safe.

Mikhail's expression falters from a beaming sort of look to a quizzical frown. He's speeding up? He's speeding up. Why is he speeding up? Did he do something to cause Fenton to speed up? Is it the whole 'chase' train of thought? The artist sighs heavily, still running after the skater at the pace he's keeping.

Seriously— why does he know people who turn out to be sort of paranoid?

Arms pump as his sneakered feet continue to hit the ground, but the distance between him and Fenton is starting to grow larger. He can't keep this up with the guy's transport advantage. There's one other thing left to do, then. Clearing his throat, Mikhail raises his vocal volume to something louder than his normal setting. He doesn't understand sound measurements— it's fine. "Hey! Fen, wait!!"

Fenton really hadn't caught a good look at Mikhail enough to identify the artist, but that's not to say that he wouldn't have sped up regardless. When people are running after you, instinct is to make sure you're not caught. It's the same whether you're running from trouble or in a race.
He's about to bring his foot down for another push off when he hears his name- or the shortened version of it- being called. The skater knows the voice, but it takes him a moment to actually identify it. He pulls his foot back onto the board before it can touch ground, adjusting his balance before he goes toppling over from the sudden change of manuevering. So, the real question now is does he stop or keep going? How easy it would be to do the latter, but Fenton remembers all too clearly the last time he kept up a chase with Mikhail. Besides, the guy never meant anything by it, apparently. He's just sort of…strange.
Quite abruptly, Fenton suddenly curves the skateboard around, making a clean u-turn to head towards the running Mikhail.

Mikhail is not 'strange.' He is 'eccentric.' Same difference. He only bothers the people he knows and so far it's brought him no trouble. The change in Fenton's moving direction makes him happy that the skater isn't going to run any further. A head-on collision wouldn't be good, either…

…Which leads the artist to run past the approaching Fenton.

Not all is lost. A few seconds later, Mikhail comes back, finally slowing to a graceless stop. He bends forward to rest his hands upon his knees, taking deep breaths. "…Osu," he says hoarsely, saluting briefly.

"….." He ran past him? Is he chasing him or trying to race him? Fenton's long decided not to even try comprehending the guy. After all, he sat in trees and watched people. How creepy is that?
Again the skater turns his wheels about so that he trails after until he loses enough momentum that he can safely put his foot down to bring the skateboard to a stop. By then Mikhail's returned, looking like he's just run a marathon. Heh. Quirking a brow at the guy, hands still in pockets, Fenton tilts his head at the greeting before offering a blunt, "Yo."

It's a start. Sort of better than the other starts he had with Fenton in the past weeks, anyway. Miki lifts his head up to look at the skater as he usually does, his chest still heaving from the short run. "You…" he starts before taking another moment to pause, "…you are a very hard person to track down. But still…" His back straightens out once again from his former position as he reaches into his bag, eyes glancing down at it as if he's wrestling something away from a little monster that wants to keep the stuff inside for itself. Out comes the messily 'artistically-wrapped' gift bound and ready to throw at someone's head. "This is for you."

Fenton looks at Mikhail confusedly. "I didn't know I was going to be tracked." A pause. "…you really are a stalker," he says flatly, although there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. He tips up his skateboard with his foot as he waits and watches to see what the artist wants. When said…. art-wrap is produced, the skater blinks. "…it… looks like a wad of newspaper duct-taped out of desperation for something inconceivable," he says, blinking. His hands remain in his pockets as he's still not sure if he should take it, apparently.

"Am not," the Russ-Asian huffs, although he doesn't really have anything to deny it. He bites onto his lower lip for a few seconds as he continues to stand there with the present outstretched before him. Newspaper wrapping came in handy when he ran out of other things to wrap with. When Fenton doesn't take it on the spot, Mikhail shakes it up and down. "…I didn't have any scotch tape," he explains.

Still looking somewhat uncertain, Fenton finally pries his hands free from his pockets to take the thing. He eyes it curiously, turning it over and over in his hands in what seems a futile attempt to find a starting place to open it. "Ah…" No scotch tape, but duct tape? Maybe it's an artist thing.

Duct tape fixes everything; at least, this is what one of his uncles said. He just forgot to replace the last roll of scotch tape he used up for other projects. It seems impossible for anyone to get past the layer of tape and paper, but the breakdown of fibers does give way to the rending attempts. Soon enough, Fenton is greeted by a little metal robotic fish ornament with jagged, stylized edges and a set of sharp teeth. It's quite happy to see him.

"It's…" Fenton blinks once he manages to finally peel away the wrapping. "…it's a…." He tilts it this way and that in his hand. "…what is it?"

Mikhail just watches, raising his eyebrows. "…It's a robot fish," he replies plainly.

Fenton blinks at Mikhail and then looks at it again. Then he turns the fish rightside-up. "Oh, oh! I see it now. Yeah. Robot fish. Nice." He looks at it, not sure whether to be amused by the sharp grin or somewhat disturbed. "Thanks."

As the fish grins endlessly, Mikhail does the same. His is less psychotic-looking. "Welcome," he says with a chuckle. "I would've given it joints so it can move around, but I didn't have time for it. It's still hangable, though." The artist shrugs shortly after this, pretty much done with his commentary.

"You made it? That makes it even cooler. Wow." Fenton pokes at the thing as he lets it hang from his other hand. "Pretty crazy." Letting it dangle off of a finger, the skater looks back at Mikhail before wadding up the newspaper and duct tape in his other hand as best he can, prior to tossing it back at the artist, maybe bounce it off his head.

"Heh. Thanks." Mikhail smirks, his initial reaction to the thrown wrapping ball slow. It does bounce with a light crinkle, making him squint once it makes its impact. "Gah, hey." He shakes his head, bending over to reach out and pick it up. There seems to be no trash cans near them. Stuffing it back into his bag will have to do for now. "Well. Now that I've done that, I can let you go off on your own again," Mikhail concludes. "But seriously. There has to be a better way of contacting you, Fen."

He looks down at the fish again before pocketing it. No way he's going to go skating around holding it in his hand all the while now. Fenton smirks as the paper ball hits its mark. "Needa work on your reaction time, huh?" he chuckles. He arches a brow at Mikhail as business is stated to be done with. "It's called a cellphone. Kind of like a regular phone, only they don't have chords," he explains oh-so-helpfully, his tone flat but a glint in his eye.

The artist's nose wrinkles back at Fenton with the remark. "Hah," he replies in the same tone, sniffing. Clearly he's amused. "You know what I meant. A number?" His cell phone is pulled out as he says this, flipping open to check if he received anything of late. Nothing, since he never really gets many calls or messages, but it doesn't bother him.

"Why, so you can stalk me when I'm at home too?" Nevertheless, Fenton digs his hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone. He flips it open with a well practised gesture, pulling up his contact list with a few button taps. "Yours first. Then I know when not to pick up," he jokes. Or is he?

Mikhail stares at Fenton blankly. "…You're so mean," he says, sticking out his tongue. He gives his number out anyway, waiting for one in return. Of course, he's also expecting Fenton to suddenly up and run as he waits.

It's a tempting thought. Fenton punches in the number, labeling it under 'Stalker' as he feels appropriate, before giving his own after a moment's consideration.

Be glad he doesn't label Fenton's 'Victim.' With a push of a button, it's saved into the phone's memory. He raises the thing up with a nod, confirming that he got it. "All right," Mikhail says with a faint smile, "I'll see you around. Maybe." If Fenton wants to be found, anyway.

"Yeah, sure." They go to the same school, after all. Yet, as Fenton's proved, he's quite capable of making himself scarce when he wants to. "Later," he says, waving his cellphone hand, checking the time before clicking it shut and sliding it back into his pocket. He watches Mikhail as if to make sure the guy doesn't follow him again before he drops down the skateboard.

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