A dark figured moved among naked trees, his steps silent and form hunched so as to better conceal himself from the predators that lay in wait. His breathing, uneven and shaky, left behind small puffs of smoke that, luckily enough, dissipated quickly enough not to blow his cover. It was cold, yet that did nothing to stop cold sweat from drenching the man's brow and face alike as he sought to make his way back home undetected. The row of trees he'd hidden behind had to come to an end eventually and as it did, the man was forced to press himself against one of them and, staying his breathing, peek from behind it to assess the situation. Deep, dark brown eyes scanned the area with care and experience, but truthfully, his pursuers were not difficult ones to spot even for more inexperienced eyes. As such, although the central park that laid out in front of him might have [i]seemed[/i] calm and peaceful under its white, snowy coat, the man wasn't fooled; even among the chattering couples and pigeons scraping for food from underneath the snow, he could see them with ease; predators, waiting for him to make that one fatal mistake that would lead to his capture. Most of them were gathered around the fountain, most likely unaware of each others' presence. Made sense, as they tended to hunt alone. Each and every one of them was beautiful, attractive and, above all else, deadly as hell. But he would not be caught. Not today. He was too young, too handsome to meet his end here like this. John drew in a shaky breath and glanced around his hiding place a few more times, before he decided it was now or never. He pulled down the visor of the old, worn cap he'd grabbed from somewhere earlier on during the day to try and hide his crazy, distinctive hairdo, and pushed a pair of huge sunglasses up his nose to hide his eyes - another feature, he'd been told, that was rather distinctive. How in the hell a pair of brown eyes with no remarkable markings of symbols o what have you was distinctive, he didn't know, but he knew better than to the question [i]them.[/i] With one last nod of reassurance to himself, the man moved one leg into a brave forward step. His boot sunk into snow with a slight crunching sound, but he paid it no mind. He moved his other leg and then the first one again, taking step after careful step towards the exit of the park, as far away from every woman in the area as he could get. No doubt he looked suspicious in his long, black coat, particularly with his hood pulled all the way down, but he couldn't help it. He'd rather take the glares of a few grandpas and kids than be subjected to whatever horrors the women he was fleeing from could come up with once they found out about his misdeeds. This was the only way to keep himself hidden. Women had sharp eyes, especially on this particular day - he'd learned that the hard way years ago. "G'damnit man, I swear they get a sixth sense just for the occasion," the Italian mumbled under his breath, his thoughts starting to involuntarily drift back towards the horrors of last year's February. A bad mistake, if there ever was one; the temporary lapse in concentration was all it took for the guy to accidentally step on the hem of his coat and, with a surprised groan, fall flat on his face onto the snowy asphalt below. He grumbled and cursed out of instinct, rubbing his jaw as he pushed himself back onto all fours. His sunglasses had fallen, and he had to find them quick. So, turning his head left and right and pushing away snow with his gloved hands, the man began a frantic search - that was soon interrupted by a rather strange discovery among the snow; a pair of perfect, pink boots with heels. John stared at the footwear in silence, each blink he took bringing him closer and closer to the horrible revelation that was to follow. Either the pigeons had acquired a far more expensive and elegant taste this year, or he was just staring into what could very well be the last thing he ever saw in this world. With a silent gulp, the man slowly raised his gaze, eyes stopping to stare at the woman's slim legs for just a few seconds longer than was necessary, before he snapped his gaze up at the face of death. The woman in front of him stood with her arms crossed, both brows cocked, and John returned her icy stare with an awkward smile. His hand flew to the back of his head as he attempted a sheepish chuckle. "H-Hilda, honey, w-what an absolute coincidence..." He attempted, trying to backtrack back into the trees, still on all fours. "Fancy seein' you here, I... you can keep a secret, can't you? Please? Just for m-" The smile on Hilda's face widened as she closed her eyes, and for a split second John mistook it for the face of mercy. Then she opened her eyes again, and he realized his mistake. In his shock, he could do nothing but attempt a silent prayer as she turned her head to face the fountain and, cupping her mouth with one hand, shouted out a loud: "Fooound him, girls!" [I]Shit.[/i] "Ah, there you are!" He heard a brunette girl gasp in surprise as she popped out of nowhere a second after John had managed to scramble back to his feet and prepare to run for it. "I've been looking for you! It's Valentine's, so I wanted to give you a pres- ouch!" The woman turned to glare to her side, at another woman who pushed her way to John as well, brushing golden locks from her face as she held up a small package. "Sorry, sister, but it's my present he wants." She turned to face the Italian man who, at this point, was whiter than the snow he was standing in. "Right, Al, honey?" Another woman, this one with black hair, tilted her head in confusion as she arrived to the scene. "Al? But... he's called Paul, isn't he?" "No!" Another woman chimed in. "I do believe he referred to himself as Christopher." John had just started to spell out his will and pick out his funeral tune in his mind, when more people pushed their way towards him, all smiling for now, all knowing him by a different name and all about have a synchronized epiphany that would lead to his execution in about three seconds now. [I]3....[/I] "He's called Brian, I'm telling you! And we're dating, so back off, girls!" [I]2....[/I] "Dating? He promise dot [i]marry[/i] me just last week! And his name is Jack! Are you drunk?" [I]2....[/I] "..." The women started to quiet down one by one, each redirecting their icy glare from each other to John who, upon realizing this, snapped out from the prayer he'd just begun. He stared at the crowd, suffering from a bizarre case of paralysis that prevented him from moving any muscle below his, all of a sudden sore, throat. "Yeah. Heh. Um..." He began, gaze bouncing about in a futile attempt to find an escape. "So. The... weather. Cold, huh? [i]Freezing.[/i] Scary, too. Scary, scary weather today. I should... probably head inside... here... right now?" Multiple pairs of eyes stared simultaneously at the man, each possessing different colors and emotion, but all sharing in common the demand for answers. John felt like a hare caught in the middle of a pack of foxes - a pack that he had, admittedly, infuriated on his own, but still. And the pack was moving in closer. [I]Okay, so, explanation time![/I] "I, you see it's like I'm just not even... if I wouldn't totally not hide it's like, there's no and you are and then I just-," the women got closer, and the man's panic grew ever greater, his hands waving haplessly in the air as he tried to continue with a little more coherent: "I DO have an explanation for this!" Silence. John stared, careful, as he noticed the advancing the beauties had done had stopped. They were waiting for something now. But... what? "Uh...?" He began, before realization hit him, and he illustrated it by hitting his palm with his fist. "Oh! Oh. Yeah, you... want to hear the explanation, yeah? Yuuup, I, of course, ha. So... it goes like..." As he spoke, he checked his planned escape route over one more time. It'd be fine, this shouldn't be any more difficult than running after cops after a job, or escaping from members of rival families. Yeah, he was supposed to be good at this, yeah? That's why he'd lived so long. Right, so, timing was everything. Timing and diversion. Now all he'd need was the diversion. John hadn't yet gotten all the gears in his mind engaged when the women had realized he wasn't going to spit out any explanation, and had began to move again. They were mere inches away, and in his panic, the man pulled out the first diversion he could think of, the one he'd used against his father as a teen to get away from unwanted housework: "Look! A hot chick in lingerie!" Something smashed against his head, and that told him that these people were not as easily fooled as his father had been. So! "Sorry for what I'm about to do!" John gasped, grabbing the shoulder of one of the women closest to him and shoving her aside with just enough force to make a path and not make her fall. Desperate as he was, he wasn't quite desperate enough to hurt a woman. Particularly so because this kiiinda was his own fault for arranging multiple dates in the same place and forgetting all about it. And not staying consistent with names. And not planning an escape route in advance in case his plans blew up. Either way, two seconds passed and the man was already hightailing down the streets, followed closely by the women from earlier. He couldn't make out what each individual was shouting, but he did catch enough to bring a protective hand over his crotch and pray to god most of them were all bark and no bite. Some of his chasers threw snowballs, few of them flying inches past the man's face and startling him as they entered his peripheral vision. Some hit his back, his head, and ass, and generally whatever else they humanly could. "I'm sorry, okay!" John shouted behind, glancing carefully over his shoulder. "I can.... take you out on a date individually and do you and all, just please calm down! And uh, please don't make me choose who's the prettiest and all 'cause that's kind of unf-ouh! ... Okay, who the heck threw a rock?! That's not part of- ah, tch, o-okay, ouch, a lot of people threw rocks now... I guess it's okay then. Hey, look, I love you all, I'm-!" His sentence never got to finish. He wasn't sure if it was a rock or an inconveniently placed brick, a branch or one of those stray animals wandering around the city, but something made him stumble. The last thing he remembers was that he swore somewhere deep in his mind that he would never get multiple dates on Valentine's again. Just like he'd sworn the year before. And consequentially, the year after.