Duck, Duck,[Your]Goose[Is Cooked] {Geebs}
Oct 4, 2011 1:28:56 GMT -5
Post by charade on Oct 4, 2011 1:28:56 GMT -5
Clyde Duval
"It's not a decision, it's a guess. It's like flipping a coin and trying to decide whether it will be heads or tails."[/size][/font][/center]
It was the early evening and Clyde Duval was on the move. Or perhaps prowl would be a more accurate word. Yes, that is a more accurate description of the activity nineteen year old Clyde found himself pursuing. It was around this time that a majority of the general populace of the district was on it's way home from school, or the workplace. It was the perfect time for an entrepreneurial young gentleman such as himself to earn some well-deserved cash. Incidentally, by entrepreneurial young gentleman I mean well-practiced pick-pocket and by earning cash, I mean taking it without any regard as to the people to whom it belongs.
You see, Clyde was not simply taking a stroll through the more upper-crusty sections of district six, rather, he was looking for an easy mark. A mark as defined by the dictionary could be read as anything from a small bruise to a form of money used in the pre-panem era country of Germany; But as Clyde was not looking for a bruise nor out-dated coinage, one can only assume that the word mark in question refers to the slang term for an easy target. Read: Usually for swindling the pants off of and/or into.
But I digress.
Clyde made his way down a street and began watching the type of person he generally referred to as a stuffed shirt. I'm sure you know the type. Soft in the middle, struts around like he owns the place, desperate to be relieved of his wallet? Well, perhaps the person in question isn't all that desperate to be relieved of his wallet; in fact it's more likely that he'd like to hang on to his money for as long as possible, storing it up for who knows how long and for what purpose? Regardless, this canker would soon find themselves divested of their felonious goods.
Deftly crossing the street and sneaking behind the above mentioned fat-cat, Clyde began matching his preys movements, step by step in an effort to not be found out; mimicking every quirk of the person in front of him like a life-size marionette. There were enough people around that it wouldn't seem altogether odd for him to be trailing behind someone in this manner. But then, Clyde stopped short. Was that a peacekeeper way up yonder? No, No. That wouldn't do at all.
With an overly exaggerated sigh, Clyde abandoned his quarry, and slipped into a nearby alley-way. Seeing Peace-Keepers around did not bother him; however it was generally safer to avoid them like the plague. Stepping over a sleeping morphling addict, The Duval lad skipped in a nonchalant manner throughout the rest of the alleyway, across a street, and around several corners.
It made him happy to wander the streets so aimlessly; if was not as if he had anything to care about. Other than his well-being and the continued state of such that is. By and by, he found himself quite far from the better part of the district, in fact, he found himself on the more seedy side. The part more commonly referred to as the red light district if you will.
He had to be careful around these parts, as Peace-Keepers and other well-known figures frequented the place almost as much as the ladies of the night did. Not that the thought bothered him. No, Clyde was more than capable of taking care of himself should the occasion arise. Still, he couldn't help but wonder who or what the shadow he was approaching would reveal itself to be.
The more concerned reader might wonder how I know so much about Clyde Duval, or why I have taken such an interest in his doings. Well, no one did ever ask for my name did they? My name is Clyde Duval, and I very much enjoy talking to fictional readers in my head as I narrate my own life. Things get very boring in this district you see. Now , If you'll excuse me, There is the matter of the as of yet un-revealed shadow that Clyde must attend to.[/size]
