Atlas was stepping in every other square.

He wasn't exactly obvious about it—in fact, it looked as if he was walking perfectly normal. Eyes straight ahead, hands in his pockets. But to a casual observer, it was noticeable.

Atlas was also smiling. It was a small smile, like he had thought of some fantastic joke that he wanted to share with the world. He even chuckled sometimes, but not very often and every, very quietly, because he didn't want to scare anybody (oh no, that was his last intention).

He did not belong in this mall. The advertisements maybe, but not the actual mall. This did not mean that he didn't absolutely adore it. The people, the places, the things! Oh, the things! He loved things. Especially things that made him look prettier and more expensive.

Swallow could be classified as an observer.

There is nothing casual about the kid, however, except her appearance - untamed hair, not even bothering to tie it back today, big green coat only valued for its durability and ability to hide her wings, and definitely not aesthetically pleasing, and not the slightest trace of any makeup whatsoever. She was not a makeup person.

She was, however, prone to tease people.

So she watches Atlas for a while, silently, expression hovering on the brink of mischief and downright evil pixie, and then very deliberately cuts into his path and stands squarely on the next tile in his progression.

Because she is bored, you see. And he seems the type to fluster.

He reeled back (though it should be noted that he still managed to avoid stepping on the lines of the squares), appalled by this visage in front of him. This girl—this thing (and not one of those gloriously pleasant things) had gotten in his way.

Her hair was unkempt.

Her jacket made army men cry.

She had no make-up.

Though he was still smiling, there was a hint of distaste tightening the corners of his lips.

“May I help you?” Ever polite, ever condescending. “Do you need a dollar?” He was not above being blunt, however. He very well could have asked her, ‘are you homeless’? That was his intention, of course. He was clenching and unclenching his hands into fists in his pockets—oh, but did he want to straighten up that girl’s appearance. At least slap on some blush or lipstick.

"Nope."

She's grinning at him.

She is perfectly happy to be in his way all day, see.

She has nothing better to do with her time.

She really needs a hobby.

"Why do you ask?"

We've covered before that she's as innocent and pure as the dawn.

No one ever believes us. It makes us sad.

"Because you look like you could buy a new wardrobe, and I figured I'd start you on your savings." He stood perfectly straight (down to the damn centimeter) and smiled back. Atlas always smiled. It seemed as if he had forgotten how to not. Though his smile sort of resembled a frown, because his eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw tight. He was very good at frowning while smiling.

"Excuse me." You're in my way. You'll make me lose count of the squares. You are the reason mankind makes me want to tear out my perfectly groomed hair. I'm prettier than you. Get out of my fucking way.

"But I can't excuse you. That was rude." She doesn't sound offended.

She sounds like she's teasing him.

Which she is.

Bothersome teenagers and their bothersomeness.

"I just don't bother with that kind of thing," she explains ever so patiently.

She could if she wanted to. Really.

Okay, no. But she can pretend.

"What kind of thing?" Maybe he was being deliberately oblivious, but chances were he had already dismissed their conversation. His eyes were indeed glued on a mannequin behind the window to the left. Her dress was crooked. It was driving him up the wall. Perhaps he could just forget about this annoying little kid and simply stepped around her, but that would be rude.

He would give her five minutes.

"I apologize." Though he wasn't sorry.

The mannequin's dress was bunched up to one side, also. He was already starting to forget about the strange girl with whom he was talking to, because the mannequin was just so much more interesting.

Unless, of course, he could convince the girl to let him give her a make-over. But could he really sacrifice so much of his time on someone who wasn't necessarily worth it? Besides, the mannequin would be easier to fix than the girl.

"New wardrobes kind of thing," because she is obviously talking to someone very, very slow on the uptake.

And after thinking about it for a bit, she nods her gracious acceptance. "Apology accepted."

She steps out of his way, just barely. She's still in the way, of course, just enough out of it for him to squeeze by.

If he's that obsessive compulsive, that is, which she suspects he is.

His eyes slid back to her for a fraction of a second, then back to the mannequin. She had left him enough space to walk by, but not nearly enough to continue on his little yellow brick road without brushing up against her. Like he would allow that to happen.

"Well, you need one." He wasn't saying it as an insult, rather just as an observation. "Unless you regularly thieve barracks. Those poor army men."

Slow on the uptake, maybe not quite. Distracted easily? Very much so.

"And on the topic of rudeness, you are the one who's currently in my way, and keeping me from doing my business." How very childish, this pointing of fingers thing. But she was, and it was annoying, and he had things buy, which he couldn't with her just standing there and blocking his way.

"I'm not hurting anyone."

Right. Just annoying them for the hell of it.

Classy, Swallow. Really.

You shouldn't bully people, you know. But you're just going to ignore me, aren't you?

And she steps further to the side, with a grin that says 'I can push your buttons as easily as breathing, mister man'.

"And neither was I," said Atlas, gently, with the undertones of someone who softly wanted to strangle the hell out of the young girl blocking his way. "This does not mean that you're not being horribly rude and obnoxious. And annoying. Moreso than I've seen in ages."

We'll ignore the man who had him rip off his fingernails. Because that wasn't just rude, that was scarring.

But his smile was gentle, and his eyes were back on the mannequin, and though his words were harsh his tone was dismissing.