drake wallace ; dean winchester (likedillinger) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-12 01:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | cinnamon spider, dean winchester |
Who: Drake and Kayla the Kappa
What: A not-so-friendly encounter.
Where: The streets of Seattle.
When: Tonight (3/12).
Warnings: Standard Kayla warnings.
It had been weeks since she had taken free reign of the city, a hiatus that she blamed on both the Sadist and M. Barnes. It was maddening, sitting in her apartment like a caged animal while her body and the rift of public concern healed over. Several times, she feared she was losing her mind, especially when Charlie found himself in the middle of a fantastic mess of his own doing. But now, her legs had healed and public awareness of the Kappa seemed to have faded. With all the accounts of Charlie’s release and whispers about the Night Terror, she slipped gently under the radar once again. It was a bit disheartening in some ways to be forgotten, but it gave her the element of surprise. When the surface of the pond was at its stillest, she would strike.
The rips in her uniform had been mended with patches from the interior, little black slits in the aquamarine fabric that ran seemingly at random up and down her thighs and calves. Thankfully, the material she had used was sturdy and was able to take the patches without falling to pieces. Still, it was something to keep in mind - her body could heal with time, but the suit couldn’t. In a twisted way, she was thankful for her experience with a needle and thread as a child. It was certainly paying off.
Poised at the edge of a rooftop, she looked down at the alley below, gloved fingers touching gently on the brick. A smile curled the edges of her blue lips as she saw a lone figure strolling along the sidewalk, the streets otherwise deserted. She’d been in the mood for a bit of fun. Solidifying her mind, she extended herself into her own body, feeling every cell and every molecule of water inside of it. She closed her eyes, more comfortable without the distraction of sight, and leapt off the edge of the building.
The wind whistled around her body as she fell, holding herself the way a diver might. As she felt the body of the passerby approach, she tucked her chin and brought her legs overhead in a simple somersault that shifted her position from headfirst to feetfirst in relation to the ground. Focusing on her own body, she opened her eyes as she slowed her descent, fighting with her own acceleration until she was falling as if she had dropped just a few feet. Dropping to the ground several yards in front of the solitary man, she landed in a low crouch. The dark brown hair of her wig settled on her shoulders, partially obscuring the green mask that ran from forehead to nose. Fierce blue eyes looked up, bright embers set in dark holes, as a smile spread across her lips.
“Good evening,” she said slowly as she rose, movements slightly unnatural. She had risen from the shoulders, not the legs, making her appear as if she were a puppet on awkward wire strings. Her arms rose and fell at her sides, finally coming to rest against her narrow hips.