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thatdarncat (thatdarncat) wrote in silverage,

"What?" she shouted back down. Her forearms? What in God's name for? But what choice did she have? He had a flashlight, and she was nowhere near as agile as she normally was tonight. She pulled up her sleeves and quickly flashed her bare arms at him.

"There," she spat, "I'm not a werewolf or an alien or whatever the hell you've confused me for. Now stop shooting fireworks at me,"

She finally removed her goggles from her breast pocket and put them on. Though the technology was primitive (well, she wasn't from the future like so many folks these days seemed to be), they allowed her to see better in the dark. She wished she hadn't, though. He was just a kid, and a sickly looking kid at that. He was clearly involved in some kind of gang, probably some poor kid from the East End. Jesus.

"Look, kid," she shouted down, leaping to a higher awning to put more distance between the two of them, "I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but I promise there's a way out. I've been there before,"