Haine didn’t react right away. The kid was trying to intimidate him, and that shit didn’t fly with him. Keeping his expression as blank as possible, knowing it would just infuriate him further—
—there’s that death wish thing again—
—he spoke again with little tone to his voice, the way he would speak to a child. To add to the sarcasm, he made his German accent a bit more pronounced in his words.
“I have a license. I’d show you, but I doubt you could read it.”
Let the fucker get angry. Let the kid punch him, try to beat the shit out of him. It would be then that Haine would show him just what exactly he’d gotten himself into, and hopefully after that he’d be free to move on with his business.
His red irises were locked on the other’s, practically daring him to make a move, a subconscious way of challenging him that likely came from his ingrained animalistic tendencies. He wasn’t about to waste bullets on this little shit, though. He knew that much.
Reaching up as if to emphasize the point, he set a gloved hand on the youth’s fist, gripping it tightly.
Doubt I can read it, my ass.
What a horrible comeback, but the worst thing about it was that it worked in making him even angrier. This guy’s tone was pissing him off worst of all, as if he had no reason at all to be stopping someone that openly seemed to be violating one of Japan’s biggest laws, on top of being a total asshole about crashing into him earlier. As if he’d allow some armed foreigner that hadn’t the slightest clue about social manners and ordinances in this country just roam free to do whatever he pleased without actually showing some proof of his authorization to be here.
Normally, he couldn’t care less about scum like this guy, but the fact that he was from another continent entirely, possessing such poor aptitude for being humane while carrying around a pair of deadly weapons set off some serious alarms in his head. The last thing he needed was a shoot-out in his own city, especially when the safety of ordinary civilians, which he risked his life for on a day-to-day basis, was at stake.
He knocked the gloved hand away, shoving the male back a step as he let go of his grip on the other’s collar. He hated being street law enforcement–or even just a hometown hero–especially when he already had such a bad reputation for being a punk with the actual police all due to nothing more than his natural hair color, but he was going to call them if it meant protecting his town.
"Yeah? Let’s see it, then,“ he growled, neglecting to mention the fact that he’d taken English classes for every year of middle and high school and scored damn near the top of his class in every exam.
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