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Job: a specific piece of work required to be done as a duty or for a specific fee

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It was good money for such a stupid work. It was a ridiculous amount of money. He was a professional, not a babysitter. Watching over such a stupid girl wasn't exactly what he thought as an exciting job. His client seemed to have some kind of obsession with the girl and seemed convinced that the art school was a dangerous place for her to be.

He, who enjoyed the thrill of the chase of a criminal, a suspect, a pray; he was now being drawn into the endless routine of a bohemian little girl who was ready to throw herself into a pit for a complete stranger. And it annoyed him. It annoyed him that she would be so naïve as to go out on the damn cold rain for a complete stranger, who she probably wouldn't see anymore, and probably didn't appreciate her stupidity as much as he should.

If he had been in some way expressive he would have sighed, but he knew better. The softest of sounds, the slightest movement could give away his presence, and it was a fatal mistake he had never made, but had seen on others. Oh, but he had made a mistake once. Once only, and it had been that night...

He had been reading the files sent by his client concerning the subject to be followed. It was quite an impressive file, best in her class, graduated from medicine only a few months ago. It would look as if her future was among robes and stethoscopes, but it was a family imposture, so once she finished her career she devoted herself to drawing. 'A waste of brains' he had thought. He had had to follow many impressive people, but this girl was somehow different... apart from the ridiculous hair color. He had pictures from her childhood and youth, and her hair had always been pink. Not light red, oh no, bubblegum pink...

And then when a thunder made him look up he saw her. And she saw him. Big. Mistake. The one being followed must never see the follower. And there it was, his unbeaten record of no-screw-ups had banished. He averted his eyes and looked back into the screen.

The red haired man felt the same feeling on his face, that one that signaled someone was looking his way. He knew it was her. He felt uncomfortable under that friendly gaze of hers. Maybe it was because it reminded him of his failure, or perhaps, only perhaps, it was because of the love that seemed to emanate from her.

Love. It was a strange word for him. He didn't know the love this woman felt for everybody, that caring she seemed to live up to. He knew of the dishonesty of people, he knew about violence, about hate and revenge, about jealousy and over-protectiveness. He knew because he worked with it every day. But love? No one made him follow anyone out of love. He wasn't about to go into those locked parts of her memories, those he locked away a long, long time ago. Those memories that had the word love in them had been encrypted and as far as he had any consciousness they would remain that way.

The sound of an incoming mail woke him up from his reverie. It was his costumer. It seemed that only following her wasn't enough anymore. The tailing man frowned at the request. "Take care of her" were his exact words. His anger was rising. Using his services for such stupidity, he wanted to turn down the job, but even though he was the best it didn't mean he didn't have a boss. Damn them all. He slammed the laptop closed, he didn't care if people turned to see what had been that noise, he had already been seen by the girl, another little slip would do nothing to his reputation. He crossed his arms and frowned. Damn that girl too. This would probably make his work harder. Opening his beloved, yet mistreated, computer again he decided to answer. Maybe he could get him to pay more for this.

His fingers flew over the keyboard; the response came immediately, offering a great rise on his fee. Unfortunately for that amount he'd have to make sure she arrived safely at home, prevent robberies, and avoid her being sick, and other kind of motherly stuff. The red haired man glared so hard at the screen it could have burnt. 'If it weren't for that idiot boss' he thought hatefully...

Time flew as the incoming files were read, but all the time keeping an eye on the pink haired girl. Morning had come, even though the sky didn't look like it.

The rain kept falling mercilessly when he saw the young girl stand up and put on her jacket. She was leaving. His mind, worked within seconds to register the absence of any other kind of protection against the rain (a.k.a.: umbrella). This time he did sigh, it was an annoyed reluctant sigh. Hurriedly, but still composed, he put on his long black coat, paid for his coffee and rushed outside. On the sidewalk, clutching her jacket was the pink haired girl. Her hair was already wet and the ends of her light jeans were soaked. The man hurried to cross the street to do what no sane investigator would ever think of...