ANNOYANCE, PEST, BOTHER . RAYNA KELLER

May 1, 2012

The sun was shining; the weather moderate, and the general feel of the atmosphere was overall wonderful. The dapper man with long, silky hair strode down the street, his hands tucked away into the depths of his pockets on his khaki jeans, the top of his head decorated with a cute, brown fedora, and his facial expression that of an enigmatic, yet thoroughly warm, grin. Though the weather was warm and a short-sleeved shirt was perfectly viable, Nolan had chosen to go down the classy fields and donned a white, collared dress shirt, shamelessly leaving a few buttons unbuttoned for everybody to see, with a black vest on top, and black leather boots that went clickety-clack along the sidewalk.

The gentleman walked straight into the cute, homely little café, absorbing the nostalgic details. It smelt nicely of coffee, a brew bubbling somewhere off in a corner that Nolan didn’t care to regard. The windows overlooked a bustling street, and one had to wonder how a little café like the Java Café survived sandwiched between more commercially appealing shops. Of course, that mystery only went unsolved when one wasn’t provided with the proper information.

The answer was simply Lukas Madeleine and Rayna Keller.

He let out a quiet, good-hearted chuckle as he thought about the circumstances for both his fellow red-haired agent and the sexy blonde that accompanied him, squeezed into a cramped apartment on the second floor. He often compared their situation to his, who spent a lot of his time in a first-class, luxurious hotel. Vain may have been a part of his rather expensive decisions, but he liked to think that it all boiled down to practicality. He worked a lot, and he needed to move a lot, so what was the point in having a permanent residence when you were always on the move? He liked to think of himself as a modern nomad, which pretty much summed up his residence in a nutshell.

The Irish young man walked up to the counter, catching the eye of some, looking naturally suave. It was all in the social torture called training that he’d underwent since he was but a little boy, having been born under particularly harsh conditions with a pesky mother and a more than just a little intimidating, military-set father. His lips transformed into a slight, crooked frown as his visage appeared in his rather happy thoughts, but it was quickly dismissed.

He could’ve just barged in. He had the option to, and even though the action would’ve caused one or two pissed people, but he decided against it.

Propping an arm on the surface of the counter, he leaned against it, a grin dancing across his facial features.

“Hulloooo?”