Who: Wren and Callie Misfit What: Paying it Forward (The third) Where: An alley When: Last night Warnings: None
It was entirely too late for anyone with good intentions to be wandering the streets of Seattle, and Callie figured she had to include herself in that number, though her intentions, while not necessarily pristine and pure, were for good reasons. Protecting people, helping people, and kicking a little bad-guy ass - it was all for the greater good. And that, she decided, gave her an excuse.
She wasn’t roaming her normal area that night, though, and the sliver of moon visible in the nighttime sky was hardly enough to light her way. It did prove to be helpful in concealing her presence as she skulked through alleys, pretending she was like a shadow, quicksilver and impossible to catch. Nothing had caught her attention thus far, and that made Callie cranky and bored. “Someone has to be doing something bad out here,” she muttered to herself, perched atop a fire escape that clung to the side of a little used warehouse, the cool night air of the Seattle spring rustling her hair.
But it wasn’t in Callie’s nature to ever give up on something, so despite the urge to descend down to the city streets and retrieve her backpack from where she had stowed it, she stayed where she was, gloved fingers curled around the bars of the aging fire escape. Time drifted by, oddly silent, the night-music that often filled the air absent. A tilt of her head and Callie strained to hear anything out there. The hoot of an owl. The chirp of a cricket. But there was just silence.
Silence never lent itself to good behaviour.
Closing her eyes, Callie disappeared from the fire escape in a puff of pale blue smoke, reappearing on the street below a second later, her senses tuned to hyper-awareness. And then, she heard it. The snap of glass shattering, footsteps, muffled voices, and like it was a rope to drag her along, Callie followed it along to the source, keeping to the shadows and stepping lightly so as not to catch anyone’s attention. Turning a corner and looking down the street, she caught sight of a leg disappearing through a window, glass glinting in the little light offered by the sliver of moon. Unable to help the grin that came to her lips, Callie stepped quickly, eyes wide with sudden excitement.
Action! Bad guys to beat up! People to protect! It fueled her, pushed her on, and would have had her scrambling through the window to give chase to whomever had broken in to the pawn shop had it not been the hand that snagged the back of her shirt, pulling her back roughly. “Oi!” she shouted out in surprise, stumbling and nearly falling as she tried to twist around to catch sight of whomever had grabbed her shirt.
Those intentions were quickly abandoned when the guy (it had to be a guy, what girl was this rough?) tried to shove her face-first into the wall beside the window, leaving Callie only a split second to react. Kicking a foot up to repel her away from the wall, Callie used her leverage to twist roughly, one gloved hand coming up to connect on the side of the guy’s face. When she felt the solid thud of contact, she grinned, feeling victorious. The grin, however, was wiped straight off her face by the return punch to her cheek by the man’s free hand.
’Two hands, Callie. People have two hands. One to hold you with, one to hit you with. Remember that next time.
The world was fuzzy, sounding very far away as she was shoved against the wall, and as she felt the rough brick of the wall pressing against her shoulderblades, Callie had a terrifying thought that this might turn out to be an awful night. She didn’t give up, no, Callie never gave up, but the blow to her face had left her stunned, reactions slowed. She saw the fist coming towards her, tried to deflect it, but all she could think about was how much it was going to hurt when it connected. Wren wasn’t out in her suit. It was late, but she had just gotten offstage, and she had slipped out of the Edison to meet a young girl she’d helped in Rainier the week earlier. The girl was fourteen, and she was trying to get away from her pimp, and Wren had promised she would drop everything to help her if she decided to actually go through with it. The call had come through on her cellphone as she’d been about to change for the night, and with it all her plans evaporated. She’d merely slipped into a dress and coat, something rich enough looking to make her stand out in the dirty apartment building she was going to find the girl at. If the cops came, the decent attire would go a long way to helping her manage to get the girl out, and Wren knew Seattle’s law enforcement well enough to know there was a difference between a girl they discounted and one they paid attention to.
She’d found the girl - Linda - and she’d managed to get her out with only one moment of danger. The pimp had returned, and Wren had threatened to call the police, holding firm even after a hand to her cheek that would leave her with the telltale mark of fingers there. Luke’s training had come in handy after that, if only to let her reach the cellphone and dial before the pimp had done any more damage. It was an empty threat, the dialing, but it had worked, and Wren had left Linda at the home of someone who helped underage girls.
She was walking home when she heard the noise from the alley. She had only one knife on her, a blade in her garter, and she pulled it out as she slipped off her shoes, wanting to approach unheard. When she saw the scene - the girl against the wall - she sent her knife flying at the soft, fleshy spot between his shoulder blades. It wouldn’t take him down, but it would distract him from hitting the girl against the wall - she hoped. Callie was wincing, bracing herself for the anticipated pain, but when none came, she cracked a single eye open to survey her surroundings. The guy was several steps away, cursing like a sailor and struggling to pull a - was that a knife? - out of his own back. Despite the way her head ached, she had to grin at that, but the more important question was left hanging in the air: Who had supplied the knife?
Hauling herself away from the wall, Callie spied what had to be the source of that well-aimed knife, but there wasn’t time enough to offer thanks and gifts of appreciation to the woman. The guy was angrier than he had been before and things had to be cleaned up. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that it’s not nice to hit girls?” she asked aloud, shaking her head to try and clear the fog that had settled over her, and then it was a hop, skip, and a solid kick to his jaw as he dared to approach further.
He went down like a sack of rocks and Callie staggered, coming back to two feet, the dizziness making her unsteady. One hand pressed to her forehead, trying to stop the spinning, and in that lull of activity, the other culprits either still in the building or fleeing at the sound of the commotion, Callie turned her attention to her female savior.
“Thanks. For what you did back there. I’m lucky as hell that you were around!” Wren considered taking her knife back, but she didn’t. She was dressed in a soft dress, wig still in place, curls short and blonde, and she really wouldn’t be able to explain why she could pull a knife out of a man without trembling, so she left it.
Instead, she looked at the girl. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said immediately, unthinking, and then she remembered what she’d told Luke and she smiled. “I think maybe you already do this,” she said, looking at the girl’s clothes, “but you have to do something good for someone else now,” she explained. “Someone saved me from a mugger, and it was because someone had saved her. Now I saved you, and it’s your turn to save someone else, to do something inspiring.” Another smile, this one wider, prouder. “And you have to tell them the same thing. That Robin started it.”
Once the speech was done, she touched a hand to the one the girl had on her forehead. “Do you need help?” she asked, unworried about invading the other girl’s space. A smile. “I’m Wren.” The last thing Callie had been expecting was a speech from her saviour, but there it was, and when the woman was done, with that grin that stretched her face, Callie couldn’t help but feel a little giddy that she had been made part of something so good, so awesome. “You can count on me for that!” she finally said in response, unable to help her own grin that came unbidden.
As fingers touched her own hand, Callie shook her head (and immediately regretted the gesture with how the world spun), turning her hand around to give Wren’s fingers a squeeze in thanks, something that lasted only a split second before her hand fell back down to her side. “I’ll be fine. I’ll walk it off after I call the police and let them know there’s someone to clean up here,” she said lightly. “Gotta work in a few hours, but it’ll be fine.” Meeting Wren’s eyes, she gave a short nod. “Misfit. Thank you for your help there, Wren.” Callie’s own outfit wasn’t much to speak of, cobbled together from thrift store items, a pair of scissors, and some needle and thread. Her socks were mismatched, sticking out over the tops of her boots, her skirt a bit higher than was probably smart for a girl to wear, but she made up for it with the tight shorts she wore underneath. A t-shirt with a stenciled “M” on the front, and black makeup around her eyes in lieu of an actual mask. All in all, Callie was pleased as punch with her outfit, though it could use some sprucing up when she got some money. Whenever that was. “Misfit,” Wren repeated, and then she smiled, wincing a little as pain flared through her cheek from the encounter with the pimp. She would remember the name, and she would mention it to someone who could get the girl a comm, she decided. “I’ll call,” she said. “So you don’t get caught here. I know the police chief,” she added, explaining why it would be okay. And, dressed like she was, it was entirely believable she would know the police chief.
She looked down at the man on the floor, and then back up at the girl. “Maybe do your good deed as yourself? I think people expect the Masks to help, but not the normal people so much.” The smile she gave the other girl was a knowing one, and she leaned down and pulled the knife from between the man’s shoulder blades with no visible reaction. She made the balisong sing against her knuckles as she closed its ivory handle, and there was little doubt that she was skilled with a knife in a way that most people weren’t.
She slipped the knife into her garter, and she smiled. “Nice to meet you, Misfit.” Callie had opened her mouth to protest that she could call, but with the explanation that she somehow knew the police chief, she closed her mouth and gave a nod in understanding. “I’ll make myself scarce. Promise.” With that decided, Callie was ready to do just that when Wren’s words stopped her where she stood. Watching as she pulled the knife from the man’s back, a sense of appreciation for Wren grew; the gal knew what she was doing even if she hardly looked that way.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised, offering her a smile in return before she looked towards the night sky, that sliver of moon, the few stars that littered the dark expanse. “And it’s Callie. Maybe we’ll see one another around sometime?” Callie asked, looking back towards Wren. “If you make a habit of doing things like this normally, I mean.” “Lark,” Wren said, giving the name that didn’t come with blonde curls and the heels she was slipping back onto her stocking covered feet. “We’ll see each other again,” she promised, her smile warm and trusting in a way that was inherently dangerous. She didn’t question the girl, her desire to do right. She didn’t question any Masks these days; it was a symbol of safety for her, a Mask, and she accepted it without reservation.
She looked down at the man, who was beginning to stir, and she motioned to the alley and the safeness of the street beyond. “Go,” she urged, already reaching for the cellphone in her coat pocket. This wasn’t the time for pleasantries and casual conversation, so Callie gave her a nod, glancing towards the man who was stirring with the first pulls of consciousness, and then without another word, she was dashing off into the shadows of the night. It was good to meet others who wanted to help like she did, Callie thought, and she truly hoped her and Wren - Lark - would cross paths again.
Once she was around the corner, Callie paused briefly before disappearing into the night air.