The street was glorious in its inception. The sidewalks were smooth grey stones, joined with such precision that the joins were almost invisible. The walls were concrete, but not like a villa in rural Fiore; they were more akin to the construction of a modernist skyscraper, all sharp edges and corners. The buildings were nothing short of monoliths, the bastions of the city's pride, stamping its arrival on the map of financially significant places to trade with. Yet no one had communicated this vision to the citizenry. The street that should have been such a joy to walk was littered with garbage and the detritus of dogs. Enjoying the street view would mean taking your eye off your shoes, and no one was about to do that. No one except Fleur, the new and improved version. Her blonde hair waved proudly as the child named Jerr ran down, weaving in between bystanders like they weren't there. He led the way and the confident blonde gave chase, although nothing to cause her to run out of breath. A swift strike nailed her as she turned the corner. Fleur doubled over. A punch in the gut will do that. Knock the wind right out of you. That lack of breath will keep you incapacitated for a time. Fleur had no choice but to fight to re-inflate her lungs while the pick-pocket gang took the lot. Her money, her luxury items, but most importantly, her blade.

Oak Town had a unconventional street layout. The streets that were once sleek new tarmac are now grayed by the bleaching of the sun. The road is a monochrome patchwork, each one lined with a shiny boarder of tar. Despite these fixes there are still cracks and the potholes grow larger with each passing year. The trees that were once fine saplings with soft spring foliage are now gnarled embittered trees growing tall but without strength, competing unnaturally against the towering apartment blocks they were planted too close to. Their bark is mossy from the perennial dampness and incessant rain, except a few weeks of reprieve in the summer months. The sidewalk for the most part is still smooth concrete, albeit scattered with litter and the debris of the molting trees. Tram wires strung from sea-green posts dangle at a two-story height, beyond the daily regard of the pedestrians who walk heads-down to their destinations. At intervals are the street-lamps, once painted in glossy green, now dappled with grey chips of undercoat. Was she still in Oak?

The chase wasn't out in the open, it wasn't the one side running over the baked tarmac from the other, it was more insidious. The chase was a calculated move, first send out the bait and see who bit, then poke for their allegiances. The last step was to stalk them, all of them, and take out the entire network. Fleur saw the others as a cancer, slowing their progress to take over the entire body. How annoying. But she had to give credit where it was due; the leader of the pack, Jerr, was certainly the stronghold for the rest of the kids. It was respectable in its own right, but they messed up when they grabbed her sword.

Jerr's breath came in small spurts, hot and nervous. At his sides, tanned fingers curled into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make him faster. Behind him, he could hear the baying howls of the older lady and her taunts. Mud smeared his sweaty face as sweat dripped from his matted hair. "Please Illium, let me live!" he cried aloud, throwing himself forward with even greater abandon. His lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as he sprinted forward, panic trembling in his exhausted limbs. Fleur took advantage of this moment and relied on her ears to lead her to the brat. While he dove straight, the blonde warrior knew he had no choice but to make a right. Knowing this, she made an early turn and gave the little child the thought that he wasn't being pursued any longer. Wrong. As she snuck up on him, she smacked him across the head. That forced him to drop Yoru, which Fleur picked up and unsheathed on the spot. She let it slide across his face, enough to cause a small scratch but that was all. "You better stop stealing, especially from me." she demanded with such vigor, she even persuaded herself that she wasn't the same Fleur long ago.

At this point, Jerr had ran out of breath. The ponytail warrior decided that bringing him back to the shop owner would be the best course of actions - additionally, she needed someone to lead her back there anyways. The Oak streets were confounding.