❝ Johann Makota ❞
You Won't Find A More Red-Handed Criminal
You Won't Find A More Red-Handed Criminal
The girl's blank expression at his proclamation did not bode well. Johann gave a dramatic sigh. Yet another victim of his overly flamboyant first name. Here he was, a little guy with a big name, forever doomed to suffer the plight of confused stares and nominal mispronunciation.
Maybe he should have just introduced himself as Jo.
Thankfully, the girl didn't comment, and instead of making fun of his stuffy name, opted instead to introduce herself. Her name, as it turned out, was Skylar. Skylar! That was just a letter away from "Skylark." How cool was that? Forget Blehcap, or Nnahoj, or even Shoemowetwochawcawewahcatowe. "Skylar(k)" had just ninja'ed its way to the top of Johann's List of Most Awesome Names.
Skylar Everett. Skyyyylaaaar. Eeeevereeeett. Wow. The perfect, blissful arrangement of syllables…that there was real poetry. Truly. (No offense, Al.)
As he inwardly enthused on the merits of Skylar Everett's name, Jo continued his valiant attempt at cleaning. After a while, his hand closed around a slightly dented, but otherwise unharmed can of tomato soup. Ooh, a salvageable one! This one was going back on the shelf. No need to thank me, Monsieur Tomato. You're very welcome. And yes, I'm still boycotting you.
He scuttled over to the shelves, stretched upward to place the can back into position—
"Why did you have my locket?"
—and froze. Rather spectacularly, if he did say so himself. He almost fell over, but didn't because he spent way too much time sneaking around and freezing in strange poses to lose control of his balance now.
Okay, so. Locket. Right. There was no way out of this; he'd been caught red-handed. Literally. How the heck was he going to explain this one?
Sorry, miss, but I have kleptomania. It's a dangerous medical condition in which if I don't steal something, I die. Don't take it personally.
No, too callous. And too stupid.
Sorry, miss, it was an accident. Don't take it personally.
True enough, sort of, but it didn't really explain much. And how likely was this Skylar girl going to believe him, anyway? Too vague. Too lame.
Sorry, miss, I was just in the middle of robbing people blind when I randomly had the urge to take your locket, because it's shiny and stuff. Don't take it personally.
No. Just no. Too…too everything.
Johann fought the urge to groan and face-palm. Darn it, this was why he wanted to run away earlier. Stupid chivalry. Stupid guilt. Stupid girl being all curious. Stupid tomato soup, stupid locket, stupid him, stupid everything. Why of why was he still here, cleaning the shop, no less, and not halfway back to the Wilds? Why?
You're an idiot, Shoulder Angel informed him.
Hey, it was your idea to stay here in the first place, Johann replied sullenly.
Yes, but I'm a figment of your imagination. Stupid ideas on my part are, consequentially, stupid ideas on your part.
Darn you, imagination.
The girl, Skylar, was still waiting for an answer. Jo glanced between her and the tomato soup shelf and went through an internal struggle of epic proportions. He told himself he was being stupid. What did it matter, what one small girl thought of him? It wasn't even like he lived here; he was an Invalid for crying out loud! He'd probably never see her again, and they'd part ways with Jo content in the knowledge of a good deed well done (sort of) and Skylar content in the knowledge that some people in the world were just jerks. They'd brush off the encounter, get on with their lives, and eventually forget the whole thing even happened. An inconsequential random event in the vast cosmos of random events. No harm done. Right?
It would be so simple to just bolt right now, but for some mysterious, inexplicable reason…Johann really didn't want the girl to dislike him.
Making up his mind, he set the can down with a determined thud.
He would do this.
Time to pull out the big guns.
(Courage, Johann. Courage.)
"I'm sorry!" he wailed, swinging around with his hands clasped in a way that screamed please-have-mercy-on-my-soul. "I didn't mean to take away something so important to you, honest! I swear it on the moon and stars!"
With the air of a desperate person, he fired his Puppy Dog Stare at her.
"I was gonna return it as soon as I realized—ran over here as fast as I could—I'm just so, so sorry, and I apologize, and I'm so sorry, and I feel like a terrible person and I'm so, so sosososo sorry, please forgive me!"
He finished the emotional speech with a flurry of repeated kowtow-ings, until he realized that the floor was still wet. Semi-cleaned, perhaps, but still smothered in the blood of lifeless tomatoes.
…Darn it.