Snippet #1220249

"Blatant disregard for human and non-human life, destruction of private and public property, assault on the ambassador of the USA's head of security. My gods, Owen, is there anything that you didn't do?" The sergent of the Metro Police glared at him from across the table. The sergent, called Stars because of his eyes, was a lean build, light brown hair, and had a long mustache he frequently twirls with a finger. Everyone said that he had come from Texas, and everyone would agree. Because, the way he is dressed, just screams Texan.

Owen smirked as the charges were read off, knowing that he wouldn't be placed in jail for all the, what he would call, minor charges. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began to breathe in the deadly fumes of the smoke. His smirk turned into a grin when Stars's glare became filled with more anger, and placed his hand on the pummel of his sword. Stars paled when he did this, and began to shuffle his papers nervously, not wanting to start a fight with a berserker.

Sighing heavily, and pouting slightly from Stars's nervousness, Owen went back to sucking on the deadly fumes of his cigarette. "I wish you would stop smoking, Owen," Stars muttered, "They'll kill you in the end." He glared at the sergent, making him flinch visibly. "Stars, you know how I need something to keep me calm. This is it, even if it will lead me to a pair of iron lungs." They shared a small laugh, already knowing that the sergent has a pair of mechanical lungs from 20 years of smoking.

Stars cleared his voice suddenly, bringing out a manilla envelope with a large red 'CLASSEFIED' stamp on the front, and passed it to Owen. "Whats this," he asked, looking at his sergent and the envelope. He tore into it and grimaced at the papers. The image of a girl glared up at him, making him smirk. He raised an eyebrow, "Win-Tech?" The sergent merely nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. "And what is my assignment this time?"

"Protection detail. Her address and school is in the file. We have already contacted the school, and they've agreed to allow you, and your sword, entrance to their grounds. However," he raised a finger, "you must keep the sword in its sheath, unless you, or your charge, are mortally threatened, understand?"

Owen glared and grunted his affirmation, and waved his hand at Stars. "Aye," was all he said, as he took up his sword, the papers, and left the building. Once outside, he grimaced, openly disgusted as he stared down at the papers. "Great," he grumbled, "Babysitting."