Post by lilah on Jun 14, 2011 8:29:09 GMT -5
She stood perfectly still, body huntched slightly, shoulders arched, holding the position of a statue. Her deep brown eyes, almost chocolate in hue, looked down at the at the blinking lights of city below, a hundred flickering dots illuminating the night. A gentle breeze kissed her face, brushed her lips and tangled her long, auburn locks, sweeping them out behind her like a dark fan, no doubt an impressive sight to any that may have been watching. Her tight-fitting clothes, dark and inconspicuous, shadowed her oddly in the half light, making her already lithe figure look even smaller, a deceptive illusion she often used.
In one of her hands, hidden by the shadows of the rooftop, was a butterfly knife, the blade exposed, but kept low so as to not catch the any of the light from the streets. Both parts of the handles were open, and she flicked them idly around her hand, almost bored, the action so natural to her she did not miss a beat. Over and over, around the word, blade sheathed blade open, twirled between fingers, around the palm. Not once did the blade get near enough her hand to cut her, and never was it in danger of it.
Her heart beat was slow, despite the dangerous situation she could well be getting herself into. It would only race in the midst of a fight, an outcome that she hoped for, but she could not predict as certain. Even though the people she was meeing with were 'the type', dangerous beyond belief, her weeks in New York had lead her to have quite a reputation. She'd butchered a few peoople, made examples of them in front of others, left clear signals that she wasn't to be underestimated. And while at first they had, people had started wising up. The were less ready to resort to violence, less ready to try and pummel her. They were all wanting to instantly co operate, but she quickly changed that.
She wondered if these people would be like the previous, or if they would present whole new challenges. She wondered if they'd tell her where her father was, or if she'd be forced to beat them until they revealed his location. She'd find him, no matter what, and she'd go through his associates, his goons, every single one, one or more at a time, until she found him. One of them would have to know. And she'd waited long enough.
A distant noise behind her, a sound on the fire escape she herself had climbed, weight applied to metal, signalled the arrival of...well...someone. Someone she expected to be a drug baron, accompanied by a few cronies, people who made deals with one Mad Dog McFearson. Evert Polaska. That was his name. He'd been the next on her list, and she knew were he made his deals. All she had to do was wait. His original buyer, he wasn't going to show up. He'd run headlong into a knife, a complete accident of course, and he would be out of action for the...well...he wouldn't ever be back 'in' action.
With a gentle sigh, she turned from her almost gargoyle-esque position, butterfly knife still flicking, and took a few steps toward the fire escape. She didn't know exactly what was about to appear before it, but whatever it was, she hope it'd be someone who would take her a few steps closer to her goal, willingly or...preferably...with a little persuasion.
In one of her hands, hidden by the shadows of the rooftop, was a butterfly knife, the blade exposed, but kept low so as to not catch the any of the light from the streets. Both parts of the handles were open, and she flicked them idly around her hand, almost bored, the action so natural to her she did not miss a beat. Over and over, around the word, blade sheathed blade open, twirled between fingers, around the palm. Not once did the blade get near enough her hand to cut her, and never was it in danger of it.
Her heart beat was slow, despite the dangerous situation she could well be getting herself into. It would only race in the midst of a fight, an outcome that she hoped for, but she could not predict as certain. Even though the people she was meeing with were 'the type', dangerous beyond belief, her weeks in New York had lead her to have quite a reputation. She'd butchered a few peoople, made examples of them in front of others, left clear signals that she wasn't to be underestimated. And while at first they had, people had started wising up. The were less ready to resort to violence, less ready to try and pummel her. They were all wanting to instantly co operate, but she quickly changed that.
She wondered if these people would be like the previous, or if they would present whole new challenges. She wondered if they'd tell her where her father was, or if she'd be forced to beat them until they revealed his location. She'd find him, no matter what, and she'd go through his associates, his goons, every single one, one or more at a time, until she found him. One of them would have to know. And she'd waited long enough.
A distant noise behind her, a sound on the fire escape she herself had climbed, weight applied to metal, signalled the arrival of...well...someone. Someone she expected to be a drug baron, accompanied by a few cronies, people who made deals with one Mad Dog McFearson. Evert Polaska. That was his name. He'd been the next on her list, and she knew were he made his deals. All she had to do was wait. His original buyer, he wasn't going to show up. He'd run headlong into a knife, a complete accident of course, and he would be out of action for the...well...he wouldn't ever be back 'in' action.
With a gentle sigh, she turned from her almost gargoyle-esque position, butterfly knife still flicking, and took a few steps toward the fire escape. She didn't know exactly what was about to appear before it, but whatever it was, she hope it'd be someone who would take her a few steps closer to her goal, willingly or...preferably...with a little persuasion.