Snippet #2406191

Donovan watched from the decorative mirror at the back of the room as the customers drifted in and out. There was a man, first, who ordered bagels and left, and then a woman and her child who screamed to no end. She and her spawn had taken a seat by the window, and they, too, were gone soon enough. Donovan huffed to himself and leaned on his arm as he waited. Another few people milled in and out, paying their dues and then toting away their food.

The woman in the red cardigan was the first to catch his eye. It wasn't anything about her mannerisms, per se, that drew his attention, nor was it her appearance. It was his voices, in fact, that drew his eyes to her. In terms of appearance, she was beautiful— perhaps she was not terribly attractive in that moment, but she was definitively beautiful in a more objective sense. It was her cardigan, however, that set off the near-literal alarm bells in his head. Like a woman in a red scarf, the cardigan grabbed his attention and called him to it. It was the type of garment that was made to grab the attention of the unsuspecting passerby. In that way, he'd learned, it was simple to tell that a woman was waiting for her blind date. First-time couples looking to break the ice always seemed to welcome a magic trick in the street, and the men usually tipped well, too.

He suspected, though, that this wasn't why she wanted to get noticed. Too much had already happened today for something as innocent as a blind date to be going on here. He wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him again, but the day's happenings all felt like a sort of cruel joke with no room for the sincere normality of such mundane occurrences.

Yeah, his mind was probably playing tricks on him. Donovan didn't get weird feelings like that, and even when he did, they weren't usually right. Another pretty woman, once again clad in a red jacket, had taken a seat inside the café. His eyes followed her— or, rather, her plate, filled with that golden croissant. That delicious, golden croissant.

God damn, was he hungry. So hungry, in fact, that he was checking out innocent girls' croissants. That just wasn't right. He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to concentrate at the matter at hand: the jackets. Two girls in matching jackets— matching and notably conspicuous jackets— had taken to the café just minutes after the shooting and the suspicious notes. There was something about them, and it wasn't at all their looks. Aside from those jackets, of course.

But, in all honesty, what could he do about it aside from sit, watch, and wait? He was powerless in this situation, with perhaps only a slight physical advantage over the other patrons of the café, who consisted mostly of small, affluent women and their equally delicate male counterparts. This was the type of place that made Donovan too many kinds of uncomfortable. He knew he didn't fit in here, and doing anything to draw even the slightest sliver of attention would draw loads more in in currents, waves, until he was drowning in stares. That didn't exactly sound pleasant, so Donovan kept to himself.

His fears about being stared at, however, subsided the moment he himself turned to the one doing the staring. A man with wings had just entered the café. Being the ratty man not buying anything, suddenly, wasn't the most striking thing going on in the place. He wasn't sure whether he should be glad or unnerved that things strange enough to cover up his less-than-righteous presence were taking place right before his eyes. He waited for murmurs to pass through the restaurant the way they always did when the inexplicable happened, but the room had gone dead-silent.

Perhaps that was because it was empty.

Donovan blinked, clearing his head. It wasn't empty, per se, but it was devoid of anyone and everyone he had seen before aside from the two red-coated girls and the winged man with the bleach-blond hair. Anyone... normal. He was beginning to feel very, very uncomfortable. Had the café seemed this empty before?

Donovan's worries were interrupted with the presence of a small hand clutching a plate drifting into his line of sight. The plate, filled with a fluffy, golden croissant, drifted ever nearer, approaching him and finally settling on the table in front of him. With shock, Donovan's eyes followed the arm up to to find a girl of no more than twelve at its end. She smiled at him and strode to the center of the room.

He wasn't sure where he came from or when he'd appeared, but when Donovan looked up, in the dead center of the space occupied by the café's four patrons stood a man in his forties and the daughter that had run up to greet him. Too many weird things were happening today— Donovan witheld his disbelief and only watched the strange man who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere, waiting for him to do something. He hadn't addressed anyone in the room, not even the two women sporting red jackets, yet his very presence seemed to command attention. He watched, rapt, as the mystery man stepped forward, a smile edging its way forward at the corners of the man's mouth as he was noticed.

After a few heavy moments of silence, the man in the middle of the room finally spoke. "As I'm sure you are all aware, you have all been brought here for a reason." He paused, long enough for those listening to formulate something to say back to him but not long enough to let them speak it. "And whatever that reason may be— whatever your motives are for coming here— I pray you'll at least listen to what I have to say. You wallets," he added a flourish to his speech, producing four assorted wallets in his left hand, "Will be returned shortly."

"As you are all aware, there's something different about you— about us. And, to get right to the point, we're being hunted. Be it by the government, private organizations, or your neighbor, someone's out to get you. You might not have been alerted to this. You may not have experience any of this. But if you received that letter, if you've come to our attention, you can be assured that we know someone wants your life."

"But why, of all things, would we contact you about this? Why, of all things, would we invite you to a park only to put your lives on the line and have you shot at? Well, we don't know either. We don't know why you're wanted or how you're connected. But you four are different, like us, and for that we only wish to deliver you this message: we can offer you refuge. We can offer you an escape from this living Hell. But, of course, it all comes for a price."

"Should you accept our offer— should you seek out this refuge— our terms will be explained to you promptly. Should you refuse, you can expect either capture or death to find you within the week. Though we may not know what makes you such a viable target, we know that those hunting you are both capable and willing to do anything they need to get what they want. They're good at what they do. You're perfectly welcome to refuse and leave yourself, your family, and those you love in danger. If you aren't, however, I'll be awaiting your answer."

With that, the café was bathed in darkness, silenced, with only the sound of the lights shutting off to fill the void. By the time they flickered on again, the man had disappeared, leaving only the girl and a white handkerchief together on the floor.

Donovan huffed to himself. This was getting to be a very, very strange day. First death threats, then strange invitations, and then more death threats. When was this going to end? He had another midnight show tonight, and he was at least hoping for for a nap before he got started. There went that dream, down the drain where all the rest of his dreams seemed to go. Here he was, in this strange and now potentially dangerous place he'd been invited to, and he still didn't have his wallet back. Why was it that he was always the one without money?

And was it just him, or had all the windows disappeared, too?

OOC: Am I just pulling these turns of events out of a hat? Psh, naw, why would I do that?? ...I don't think there's any totally reasonable way to start this off.