|From all things, Helena has been (detached) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-11-04 23:41:00
|Entry tags:||*log, dante zaragoza, leena bertolini|
Capital: Dante and Leena PT 1
Who: Dante and Leena
What: Two vigilantes on the streets of the Capital
Where: The Capital
Warnings/Rating: Violence, language.
Repose wasn't like Jersey in the way that nowhere was quite like Jersey. She had memories of it now, dark, slick streets with lamp lights that looked like isolated halos of light on the gum-spattered sidewalks. Tonight Repose tasted like fall between her teeth, like falling leaves and impending cool mornings, with the promise of apple cider and wholesome hay rides that hopefully wouldn't end in horror. Jersey had tasted like rain and grit, with the tang of oil and sometimes the shock of death that clung to fresh waterways.
She knew what brought the tang of oil.
In all her years here, she never took the wheel of a car or anything else. Her own two feet could get her where she needed to within the town, and the bus could take her further if she needed to. If she was really bad off, she could call Damian, who would send a car around for her until he'd had enough and just told her how to get in contact with them herself. And speaking of, she'd seen the news about Shadow in the Capital, and a few checks confirmed that neither he nor Misha were at the lake anymore.
The last check had been tonight, before she'd come here, to the backyard of the Mansion. It wasn't the Behemoth anymore, but it wasn't home either, not like the one in Jersey had been. To get into the cave was still the same though, and she was careful to key in the strokes that would identify her in the alarm system.
She hadn't keyed them in since she'd been Helena, but they were there, in the recently uncovered parts of her memory. The layout was both familiar and not, this cave had a different layout, but she had been here before, and se knew where to find what she needed.
The suits were right where she expected them, and she stared at hers for a long time, the royal purple and the white stripe that went across her breasts and bisected her body. A tentative hand reached out to touch the armor that she hadn't worn in years. There was no memory of the feeling, nothing it had been tied to except duty and safety, and to a girl she was only slowly regaining.
It took her another hour before she put it on. She'd been more muscular the last time it had fit, and she could feel it now, loose around the shoulders and biceps and a little around her thighs. The rest of it was perfect, and the gloves didn't even creak when she shoved her hands into them. She flexed them out, made a fist, had the material stretch over her knuckles and it was good. Really good.
But it took her another moment to go find what she really came here for. It was there, under a tarp, only a slight bit of dust on top of it. The bike. Purple with a black seat to hide any blood and she sat down on it for a moment, expecting it to feel weird, to feel something so bulky between her thighs, but it didn't either. It felt easy. Like breathing as she leaned over and finally started it up, the machine purring to life under her. Her eyes closed as she pumped more gas into it, letting it rumble all the way through her.
This was -- this was -- it was the closest feeling to belonging she'd had in so long that it tasted unnatural to her. Foreign. Sweet.
Repose had no need of her, but the Capital? Maybe she'd see Damian there, but driving out of Repose felt like the first shivers of flight without the harsh bite of anxiety.