Post by farah on Jun 27, 2009 19:20:45 GMT -8
Time: 12:05 am
Date: September 5th, 1978
Place: Poor District of the Bronx
Status: Very much open
It had begun to lightly rain. The asphalt now becoming slick, reflecting the city lights back up toward the moon that desperately tried to push through the heavy clouds, but with no avail. Though the weather sent many reeling for the nearest shop overhang or for shelter in general, some stood their ground. The neediest prostitutes and drug peddlers took the droplets of rain in stride, not faltering from their posts no matter what came their way. The only sight that made them think twice was the flashing of red and blue lights, and for now the police seemed non existent, allowing them to own the wet city streets. Warcat was also unmoved by the change in weather. Unlike most she even welcomed the clouds and the rain. To her it was added cover. People noticed less during rainy nights, not to mention all sounds seemed to muffled by the pitter patter of rain drops on the asphalt as well as roof tops.
She scaled the fire escape in but a few leaps and swings, maneuvering in the concrete jungle of the city as if she were Tarzan. Well there were no vines to hang from, but at this stage in her life, Warcat could navigate through the darkest parts of the city blind folded if needed. To many it was a useless talent, much like bird calling or plate spinning, but not everyone was a Guardsman. And not everyone relied on their sixth senses as means for survival.
Warcat pulled herself up onto the roof top, fingers digging into the crumbling brick of the dilapidated apartment building. Her strong arms took her up and over the roofs edge, where she rolled onto her feet. Her dark suit blended in with the cover of night. Her long hair lay wet and heavy around her face, a few tendrils of hair remaining stuck to her painted cheeks. Where the less than favorable weather would have made Farah feel cold and miserable, Warcat had no time for such obstacles and continued to avert her mind from even thinking on how the rain effected her, and instead kept her sights on the mission at hand.
Silently she crossed the roof to the other side, where she could better see the building next to her. The apartment complex she stood upon was two stories higher than the other, giving her the upper hand when it came to peering into the windows across the alley before her. The rain began to beat down heavier and Warcat allowed herself to crouch, squinting to keep most of the rain from hitting her eyes and bluring her vision. She'd seen her mark enter the abandoned building that doubled as a crack house, home to all worthless, as well as homeless, walks of life. Fumbling with her belt she freed a small pair of binoculars from her belt and peered through them, occasionally wiping the lenses so she could have bursts of clarity between the falling rain. She spotted him on the second floor which seemed haphazardly lit by random candles. Having apprehended many perps in that very building over the past couple of years, she knew the layout within quite well...and also knew that if she were to kick in the front door and started making demands, every homeless drug addict that called the building home tonight would try to kill her...and just might win, given the odds. That small fact stung her pride somewhat but it was the truth. If Warcat wanted her prize she was going to have to do some climbing.
Mr. Charles Lambert, drug peddler and rapist extraordinaire was about to have a very bad night
Date: September 5th, 1978
Place: Poor District of the Bronx
Status: Very much open
It had begun to lightly rain. The asphalt now becoming slick, reflecting the city lights back up toward the moon that desperately tried to push through the heavy clouds, but with no avail. Though the weather sent many reeling for the nearest shop overhang or for shelter in general, some stood their ground. The neediest prostitutes and drug peddlers took the droplets of rain in stride, not faltering from their posts no matter what came their way. The only sight that made them think twice was the flashing of red and blue lights, and for now the police seemed non existent, allowing them to own the wet city streets. Warcat was also unmoved by the change in weather. Unlike most she even welcomed the clouds and the rain. To her it was added cover. People noticed less during rainy nights, not to mention all sounds seemed to muffled by the pitter patter of rain drops on the asphalt as well as roof tops.
She scaled the fire escape in but a few leaps and swings, maneuvering in the concrete jungle of the city as if she were Tarzan. Well there were no vines to hang from, but at this stage in her life, Warcat could navigate through the darkest parts of the city blind folded if needed. To many it was a useless talent, much like bird calling or plate spinning, but not everyone was a Guardsman. And not everyone relied on their sixth senses as means for survival.
Warcat pulled herself up onto the roof top, fingers digging into the crumbling brick of the dilapidated apartment building. Her strong arms took her up and over the roofs edge, where she rolled onto her feet. Her dark suit blended in with the cover of night. Her long hair lay wet and heavy around her face, a few tendrils of hair remaining stuck to her painted cheeks. Where the less than favorable weather would have made Farah feel cold and miserable, Warcat had no time for such obstacles and continued to avert her mind from even thinking on how the rain effected her, and instead kept her sights on the mission at hand.
Silently she crossed the roof to the other side, where she could better see the building next to her. The apartment complex she stood upon was two stories higher than the other, giving her the upper hand when it came to peering into the windows across the alley before her. The rain began to beat down heavier and Warcat allowed herself to crouch, squinting to keep most of the rain from hitting her eyes and bluring her vision. She'd seen her mark enter the abandoned building that doubled as a crack house, home to all worthless, as well as homeless, walks of life. Fumbling with her belt she freed a small pair of binoculars from her belt and peered through them, occasionally wiping the lenses so she could have bursts of clarity between the falling rain. She spotted him on the second floor which seemed haphazardly lit by random candles. Having apprehended many perps in that very building over the past couple of years, she knew the layout within quite well...and also knew that if she were to kick in the front door and started making demands, every homeless drug addict that called the building home tonight would try to kill her...and just might win, given the odds. That small fact stung her pride somewhat but it was the truth. If Warcat wanted her prize she was going to have to do some climbing.
Mr. Charles Lambert, drug peddler and rapist extraordinaire was about to have a very bad night
