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 Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]

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Male Posts : 189
Location : Lake Hylia

PostSubject: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sat Mar 14, 2015 5:01 am

He came in with the shadow of the night at his back. She’d never seen such intensity, yet emptiness in one’s eyes before. There was so much burning emotion, but not an ounce of it spared conviction and mercy. They were wispy like a river’s morning fog, cascading and shrouding what could have been a beautiful eye. Instead, there lie two luminous narrow daggers for eyes. Their gray glow sparked into the room as he walked in a fearless, heavy stride.

The boards whined for mercy as he stepped across them. Each individual piece of wood groaned as each spiked footfall hit the ground. Hard drops of runoff rain slapped the exposed supports of the hollow house. It had rained the night before, making the whole rotten complex smell putrid. The abandoned apartment building was irreversibly damp and broken, windows broken and boarded up. The shadow kicked a used pipe, long forgotten by an addicted owner. Newspaper and other scraps lined the floor. The darkness silenced his footsteps, only allowing the dull, metronomic sound of the leaking roof into the husk of a home. Only the brief sound of his drifting, gnarled cape could be heard occasionally. 

He walked with purpose, but patience. Like a blind man examining his surroundings, the shadow took his careful time with his environment. He knew someone like her could have been anywhere within the building by now. However, he also knew that by the way she scurried away from him that she had no intent of leaving.

The Dusk had known this intent long before he was ever one with the decrepit King of Lost Souls. Terry Graves had long ventured down the path he had witnessed within this mysterious woman. Usually, a cat would nest in a nearby building since there were too many rusty old traps like the current one around. Then again, usually none of them got caught. It was extremely risky, the business Graves had been in. It would be suicide to send anyone below an expert into a situation. In short terms, that had to mean that the woman he was trailing was good. She couldn’t have been too skilled at her craft. Serving from over a decade of experience, Terry could tell she had had no formal training in the art. However, he found the natural raw talent exceptional. No one else could have gotten this far without at least a brief tutor in the arts. Yet, here he was; in the dark searching for an inexperienced cat who’d not only snatched what she was looking for, but also was hiding from him rather sufficiently.

If her actions weren’t so sinful, he might’ve actually been impressed with her.

He wasn’t though. Graves had long abandoned his criminal undertaking. Such evil matters are the reason he called his father Brogan and not Dad. It is the “jewel that no one will miss” that pays for structured crime to operate further and extort innocent people. The “necklace for someone deserving” is exactly what led to the death of his beloved fiancé, Amy Lee Brock.

Using sin to get the best of the sinful never ended the way it intended. That’s what the Family was all about. That’s what the Father always used to tell Terry and his fellow mob members; that no matter the harm they caused, men more evil than them would be in their place if they weren’t. For a while, Terry agreed with such logic. On paper it makes sense. It’d be much more viable for the health of Detroit if business suited men who only occasionally stole and murdered were in organized power rather than having a sociopath or warring gangs in control.

It was all a lie. A sweet façade to keep everyone in line. Terry’s mob stole and killed just as much as the gangs did. It was in a more organized, meaningful fashion, but still sin nonetheless. A gang banger could kill someone in the line of fire just for having a different label than them. However, the Family could kill someone among their own ranks just for breaking the Steel Code of Betrayal.

The Dusk shivered a bit, questioning how he’d avoided the clause for so long. He had technically broken the Steel Code, by ratting out the Family’s prime cat, Brogan Graves. However, Brogan had been roughing the edges of the Family for much too long. He’d been frequently missing jobs and meetings due to his drinking habits, starting fights, etc. Other treacherous theories had been proposed, but none confirmed. The Family took Brogan’s permanent jailing as a victory, which is why Terry avoided being murdered for spilling his guts. However, the impression was that Terry would return whenever he felt he was ready. That day has yet to come, and if he can help it, never.

One day, the Family will catch on.

The shadow passed closets, not glancing at them. A much too simple place for anyone to hide in. His horned head glanced under stairwells, not checking thoroughly. His suit allowed him and his senses to be extra attuned to any environment he was in. In the darkness, the Dusk was right at home. He used the ancient eyes of King Dusk to view the world as if he’d been born in the darkness.

A dull fog exited the shadow’s mouth upon his exhale.

The Dusk turned on his heel with a jolt, rearing low to pounce.

“Don’t..move..another…inch,” he commanded, growling in a low rumbling voice.

The darkness narrowed his eyes with fury, catching her in mid sneak across the hallway. His keen horned ears had attuned him to the very fine, quiet creak of the floorboard; a sound only the mice could hear.

“I don’t have to introduce your mouth to your colon…,”

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 15, 2015 2:02 am

She froze mid stride.  A slight smirk rose from the corner of her mouth.

“Let’s hope it doesn't have to end up that way then,” spoke the Nightingale.

A heist gone wrong.  This hasn't happened in years, not since the incident in her home village, and especially not with such a formidable opponent.  But she’s grown since then, learned the tricks of the trade, and has brought many smiles upon the unfortunate.  Yet, as fate has it, this was not the night for a smooth run.  She felt an internal thrill of enjoyment from this; this little escapade definitely brightened up the monotony that began to creep inside her from one mission after another with nothing fun really happening.  But this isn't about the thrill of adventures, but aiding the innocents by retrieving what is rightfully theirs.

Nightingale felt the weight of her target in the pouch hanging securely on her belt - a small pendant engraved with a depiction of a rose, taken as payment by some smug mobster and his gang from a mother and son who sought for their help out of desperation and bad connections.  It was a gift from the late husband to his wife before everything crumbled… a small twinge of pain occurred in Nightingale, recalling the loss of her father.  The mobsters were handled easily, and the pendant was securely taken, but this being’s arrival to their hideout was an unexpected one.

Whatever this...creature is, he certainly isn't something, or someone, to toy with.  No one has been able to hear her before, not until now.  She thought that maybe this would frighten her, someone catching her on the go… if she had done so on accident.  She couldn't help but let the curiosity get to her.  Nightingale had to see what this being was all about.

Raising her hands in the air, Nightingale turned and faced this creature of the night.

“Well, it looks like you caught your thief red handed.  Such a shame we had to… meet this way,” Nightingale sighed. “I've heard about you, and it seems that the stories were true.  You certainly appear to be quite menacing… for a white knight.”
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 15, 2015 3:44 am

The Dusk huddled low, more like some feral beast than a humanoid creature. His long, gangly claws hung over the old wooden railing next to him; intentionally carving into it. The hollow scraping sound huddled behind the ear of the thief, sending icy cold chills down her spine. A sudden decrease in temperature had become frighteningly apparent in that moment. Suddenly, the hourglass woman could catch the fog of her breath being exhaled out into the dry air in front of her. The nearby street light, the only source of illumination into the broken complex had gone dark without reason. A shadow of pitch black had absorbed the room of the two. Nightingale couldn’t even see her own hands in front of her. She knew they were still held up, but had since vanished from sight; as everything else in the room had. The only visible aspect of the room were the piercing narrow glow of the creature’s eyes. The ambient sound of leaking rain into the building had been deathly silenced. She couldn’t even hear herself breathe anymore. The only sound was that creeping scratch of claws on wood and a low grumbling breath from the shadow somewhere in front of her. The sense that the thief still retained was her sense of touch, which had come into the contact of something thick. It felt like a wisp, as if the air had become thick with moisture. It almost felt like fog, but at a much more oppressive consistency.

The chill had become frightening. It was questionable how she wasn’t shivering in how fierce the temperature drop had become. Winter had seemingly invaded the cramped darkness between the two entities. Usually, winter had at least the soothing sound of the cold air drifting about. However, this thing… had cut all sound off from the area, leaving an eerie void of sound.

A sound finally pierced the darkness.

It was it, the thing she’d heard about.

A low, rumbling exhale of breath escaped its lungs. A pale cyan fog bellowed out from the blackness, luminous just as his eyes were.

Just then, the only reference of time and space vanished as the Dusk became silent and closed his hollow eyes.

The fog, or whatever it was, had become incredibly heavy around her. The cape draped behind her from her hood almost held the same consistency. Nothing could be heard besides what… sounded like a very feint, rumbling bass tone. Her cape became lost in the consistency of the smoke like aura around her. She could no longer feel it dangling at her back, as it felt just the same as the rest of the thick air around her.

For what seemed like hours, there was nothing. No sound. No feeling. No hearing. Nothing. The woman had been condemned to solitary confinement with a beast that may or may not be a murderous monster.  She had no clue where he had gone. The scratching of the wooden railing had ended, which means he may or may not still be there. The fog he had exhaled had long vanished, giving no signs where he was since that moment. There had been no other signs where the Dusk was, or that he even was still there.

The creature could have been anywhere in the compound by now. She could have been standing right below him and she wouldn’t have an ounce of an idea he was there. The predator was on the hunt and she was hopelessly separated from her most basic of senses. He could’ve been behind her, in front of her, below her. There wasn’t any way of knowing.

The fog’s consistency had become the same as her cape’s, making her blissfully unware. However, its thickness had come to die down as it dispersed through the room. Slowly, but surely, she was able to feel her violet cloak at her spine once more…


… And around her feet… despite her cloak not being that long.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 15, 2015 4:25 am

The Nightingale had once believed she knew what fear felt like.  Time and time again fear had reared its ugly head into her life during moments that felt impossible to overcome, to defeat.  Each time this happened, she prevailed.  She refused to let her fears and worries stop her from what she wishes to accomplish, from ripping her from her chosen path.  She began to believe she was strong enough to withstand any trial.

Until now.

As her senses faded and the fog grew, so did her fear.  It rose further and further the less she could connect to the physical realm.  Eventually, even his glowing, sharp eyes faded, and all she had left was her mind and spirit to protect her from breaking.  Never in her life had she ever came across something so...otherworldly.

No. This couldn’t be happening.  It’s impossible.

But it was happening.  No matter how much her logic was trying to deny it, she knew it was happening.  That reality was seemingly breaking around her.  The screeching from his claws on the wood felt like something out of one’s nightmares, and the drop in temperature definitely didn’t help ease the Nightingale’s growing fear.  She dared not to move, keeping herself as still as possible.  He could be anywhere now.  And there was no indication to tell where that could be.

But she knew that he was here, watching, waiting for her to crack.

Sadly for him, that wasn’t going to happen.

This was all a trick, a mindgame.  Testing her.  And she knew it.  No matter how much her fear began to rise inside of her, the Nightingale refused to let it take it’s control.  She stood, waiting, ready for him to strike, to do anything.  As the fog began to die down, she could feel her cape on her back.  This brought a fleeting moment of relief.

But then she felt a cape at her feet.

He was behind her.

“The pendant.  It’s not for myself,” she asserted as best she could.  Nonetheless, her voice was trembling. “It’s for a family.  A mother and son.  It was wrongly taken from them by those mobsters.  I came to get it back for them.”
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 15, 2015 5:06 am

What sounded like the hissing of a snake came from beneath the undercurrent of the gnarled cape as it shot up on both sides of her. It extended out, somehow lengthening itself out in front of her. A sharp wind from the cloak threw up her cape around her neck. A blistering gust hit the back of her neck as an unholy roar bellowed out from the creature behind her. The force of the blast was enough to send her forward. The deft thief went head over heels into the hard wooden floor. It whined, but did not budge as her smooth cheek smashed into it. The plank splintered, cutting her face with a few jagged pieces. Using her catlike reflexes, Nightingale tried to use her forearm to catch her fall. She is able to force her weight onto the arm instead of her head and neck.  The unseen consequences reveal at least a bruised bone as the force of the roar was far more powerful that she’d anticipated. Fresh blood peeled down her cheek like demonic tears. 

Somewhere in the darkness, she had found the railing once more. It was a relief, allowing her to use it as leverage to lift herself swiftly back to her feet. Nightingale barely had time to catch her breath. His speed was unimaginable. It was as if he didn’t even move. One blink she saw a brief outline of his spiked shoulders in the darkness. The next blink she had piercing white eyes inches from hers.  There was no time to react. His claws had broken through her threshold. She didn’t know humans could move so fast… if he was human. The barbed finger tips folded around her delicate throat. A shockingly tight grip compressed her neck. The force of the grasp had gave her whiplash, throwing her head back. Her brass red hair tossed around erratically in a messy haystack.  The creature’s momentum had come straight at her, forcing her backwards. His pure strength alone forced her off her feet and into his clawed hands. All her weight and pressure was now on her throat.

The next thing Nightingale felt was the wooden railing giving way behind her. The shadow’s forward momentum and immense strength had smashed her through it. Splintered wood exploded throughout the room. Lost shards could be heard bouncing down the stairs.  The petite thief felt herself no longer in touch with the ground. Gravity had taken an immense hold on her, pulling her downward down the stair shaft. The only thing holding her up was the Dusk and his stinging strangle hold on her.  His thumbs were pressed hard on her larynx, dangling her up above the stairs.

All she could see were glaring white eyes, cutting into her soul.  The level of hatred in his glare was shattering. The vile hissing had become almost deafening in its ferocity. The choke hold came to constrict her harder and harder each moment. It was becoming more difficult to breath by the moment. Even if she struggled and became free, she would have to worry about falling down the stairwell beneath her.  Nightingale was stuck with the seething monster before her, growling with livid bloodlust.

The glare was invading her very person. It was setting fires to her heart and burning her soul. He looked upon her not as quarry, but as a long lost enemy he has waited to kill since the day he was born. The gaze was hurricanes, tearing down her life from the inside out.  He was lightning, striking into her and shocking every breathing aspect of her body. The night and all of its creatures were listening and watching as their master had let his feral side loose. The creature had almost been possessed by something else. It wasn’t a separate entity, but a lost side of the beast. It was a wound long forgotten that had been peeled open by the Nightingale.  The Dusk was bleeding inside and wished to share his anguish with his sacred enemy.

His cyan cold fog bellowed into her face, blasting her red hair backwards. She had never experienced how cold the breath of this creature was. She wished she hadn’t. It whipped across her face like a blizzard. She could feel the blood on the side of her face beginning to freeze up as the fog rolled across it.  Her cheeks had become numb and all she could feel was the searing pain of her throat being crushed in his grasp.

“Cats like you are selfish and worthless!” he spat in her face, more icy wind freezing her face, “You’ll get out if you know what’s good for you. You are going to kill people you love. Their blood on YOUR hands, did that occur to you? Or are you too blind to see past your thieving hands, covered in shame and sin?!”

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Wed Mar 18, 2015 12:42 am

His grip was very tight and she could feel herself losing more and more access to her ability to breathe.  She tried to grab onto his hands to rip them away out of desperation, but to no avail.  She felt the tips of his claws slowly dig into her neck, just enough to leave a mark but not break the skin.  His hatred...his anger…

This wasn’t about her.

She looked down at the creature’s piercing white eyes, filled with all the fury of the world.  The Nightingale began to understand...that there was something human behind those eyes.  Sadness. Pain.  Loss.  If circumstances weren’t so dire maybe she could try talking to him, or even just staying out of the way.  He wasn’t stable.

But if she didn’t do something she was going to die here...she had to do something.
The railing.

She let her hands on either side reach out and pray that she could reach either of the edges of the broken railing.  If she could just get a finger on it…

Aha! On her right it stuck out just far enough for her fingers to touch its surface.  A glimmer of hope shot through her and she braced herself.

Her hand and arm began to morph itself into the wood.  The pull on her body caused her and the being to get tugged along as well closer to the railing, just enough to get her feet to touch the wooden flooring.  In the next instant she removed her hand and arm from the railing and with her feet morphed her entire body into the floor, removing herself from his death grip.  The Nightingale swiftly traversed as far as possible on the floor across a couple of the rooms to unmorph herself underneath through each flooring until she reached the first floor of the building.  There was no way she was going to be able to fight him as of right now.  She had to recover from this and prepare for the next possible encounter with him.

She ran outside through the walls and tried to make her escape as quickly as she could by foot, traveling in the shadows as much as she could, using her powers as a last resort.  She can’t risk being seen by anyone prowling the streets or those living inside any of the buildings nearby.

Several blocks down she hid in an alleyway and sat down next to a dumpster to catch her breath.  She felt around her neck and leaned her head back, relieved and terrified all at once.  As the adrenaline began to die down, she began to feel the pain from his sharp claws and winced as she gently touched her bruises with her fingers.  That was...unnecessarily brutal.  She embraced the ability to breathe with immense comfort… but it didn’t last long.  Footsteps could be heard in the alleyway, heading straight towards the Nightingale.  Her instincts kicked in and she morphed herself into the dumpster and waited.  If it was him, she was ready to brace herself.

The footsteps stopped right next to the dumpster.
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Wed Mar 18, 2015 1:26 am

The Dusk jerked as he witness the thief he was carrying suddenly slip between his fingers. The woman’s face had somehow turned into the very wood that the railing composed of, and morphed into it. The shadow whipped around on his heel, watching her sink into the floor below. For a moment, the beast wasn’t sure quite what to do.

The Dusk had not expected her to be a super.

Biding his time, he strode over to the boarded up window and closed his eyes. The shadow calmly blocked out all other noise, knowing that the assailant had completely disappeared from visible sight. He’d have to rely on his enhanced senses in order to catch were this woman would reappear. For a good minute, the Dusk stood in serene silence, awaiting the trail of his prey.

There it was. The shadow distinctly heard her feline like feet slap the sidewalk at the base of the building. He heard her intense panting as she grasped for newfound air. The Dusk nodded to himself, satisfied that his strangulation plan worked. While he did not see her supernatural abilities coming, he DID know that cats were notorious for being excellent escape artists. Even with her amateur experience, she surely wouldn’t have been inept in that skill. Choking her may have been a bit extreme, but now the Dusk could hear her erratic, labored breathing loudly. To his keen horned ears, she may as of well have painted a path right to her.

He stepped back slowly away from the window and arched his feet. With a running start, the Dusk burst through the window with wild ferocity. Shards and splinters of wood exploded into the night as he extended his cape under his fists. He snatched the gnarled cloth, forming his signature wings.

The shadow flew across the night like a bat out of hell.  The mysterious woman ran for several blocks, unware of his silent flight just above her. The Dusk took this as an opportunity to track her. She was indeed untrained, meaning that she may not have known better than to lead a tracker right back to the base of operations. The beast put his faith in this assumption, choosing to stalk her from the cloudy night sky instead of pouncing on her. His inky black figure blended into to the dark indigo of the clouds above him. The Motor City Avenger became one with the night sky, fading from sound and sight.  Not even the moon, illuminating the shanty city with a faded cyan glow, could spot him.

To his dismay, the cat chose not to return to her home base. Instead, she elected to rest in an alley and recover by a dumpster. He grumbled internally to himself as he glided softly onto the edge of the building above her. Using some of his own cat skills, The Dusk descended the railings of the fire escape. The noise of his drifting cape blended in with the sound of drying clothes in the wind. Not even a mouse could identify him as he crept down vertically to his target.

He could not let her go…

… Not until she learned…


Just as he was reaching his barbed claw down slowly, footsteps echoed violently through the alleyway. He witnessed the woman meld herself into the dumpster just as she had with the wood earlier. The Dusk cursed to himself, staring to see who had frightened his prey away.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 29, 2015 12:24 am

The Nightingale moved herself to the other side of the dumpster and removed herself from its metal casing.  She looked over just enough to catch the man’s silhouette on the other side, looking around for what she assumed was her.  Her running in by instinctual fear seemed to have caught someone’s attention.  A bit odd that someone would care enough to follow her…

Wait. He looked familiar…

And then it hit.

Nightingale recalled the scene of the crime where it all started.  The baggy, tan jacket with the hole on the left of his gray beanie.  That was the man who stole the rose pendant from the
mother!  Anger began to surge through her as she witnessed the menace standing there.  Then it began to work like clockwork in her mind:  he had to have recognized her if he was following her...meaning he know that she took the pendant back and took out the others from his little gang.  How could she have slipped up on missing the man who took in the first place…

The years of taking a break from Nightingale have caused her to become messy.  There is no room for this kind of rookie mistake.  She had to fix it, having him roaming around is more danger meant for that family.

The thief looked up and around, still facing away from her.  He took note of something odd in the railings of the fire escape and squinted to see what seemed to stand out.  Only a mere second later utter fright entered his eyes and he took a sprint out of the alleyway.  The Nightingale immediately went back into the dumpster and waited until he sprinted out.  Without even looking she knew who it was. It was him.  The creature of the night who introduced her to true fear.  

He must have been watching her for quite sometime now.  Maybe he never left.  It isn’t really surprising though, considering how the Nightingale sprinted in fear, making enough noise to catch the attention of a common gang member.  But it certainly didn’t diminish the amount of trouble she was in currently.  What was this to him?  Why is it his duty to seek out someone trying to aid the innocent, just like him?  There was no escaping the supernatural beast.

But there is a man behind that mask.

She slipped out from the dumpster and looked up to see his glowing, sharp daggers for eyes peering right at her.  He was perched neatly on the railing, waiting to pounce when he got the chance.  The Nightingale took in a deep breath and spoke.

“Alright, I know you’re angry.  Really angry.  You’ve made that extremely clear.  But please hear me out.  I’m not trying to take things for myself.  I’m not here for me.  I wish to help out the people of this city, just like you.  That man? He’s the one who took this in the first place.”  The Nightingale opened her pouch and pulled out the rose pendant and dangled it for the creature to witness.  She was taking a leap of faith, but options weren’t exactly on her side.

“I can’t let that man go free and tell whomever else he knows about what happened.  They’ll harm that mother and her child.  I don’t care what you do, but you cannot stop me from keeping them safe.”

She stared him down, trying to hold her ground with everything she had.  What mattered most was keeping that family safe from harm, and she was willing to face Fear itself in order to finish what she started.  Putting the pendant back in the pouch, she began to make her way out of the alleyway to track that man down.
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 29, 2015 2:15 am

The creature of the night growled, something out of Africa, in her face. His voice came to her like flesh through a meat grinder, low and tearing. His daggered eyes only became narrow slits as he slammed onto the garbage bin before her.

            “You are a foolish girl. You should have let the necklace go. You have only put them in more danger by forcing that man’s hand!”

The Dusk snarled at her, harnessing his inner ferocity. His hissing resonance turned to the end of the alleyway. His ears captured the drumming noise of pattering footsteps vanishing into the distance. The ever constant slight echo of lost souls booming in his ear came to disturb him, but he was able to siphon it out to focus on the dreg tearing his way through the urban landscape.

His gnarled cape drifted gently like waves through the ocean, even though the wind was nearly nonexistent. It seemed almost alive, having its own unique energy.  The cape flowed behind him as he crept onto the wet pavement below him. The beast stayed low, huddled to the ground as if he was nearly quadrupedal.

The Dusk suddenly brought up his gnarled claw and aimed it forward at the corner of the alley. From in between his knuckles came a firing strange of strange luminous lime material. It snatched the top corner of the building. With a strong jolt of his superior arm strength, the beast was suddenly whipped from his shadowy perch and into the brisk night air. His cape threw back as he soared up and over the rooftop like a slingshot. The Dusk threw his arms forward, allowing air to catch into his shroud; creating his signature wing like structures.

Like a vampire bat, the Dusk spread his blackened wings in a huge buffet. The force propelled him upward across the rooftop. He drifted down to the gravel, tucking his body onto his shoulder. The shadow rolled off his shoulder and used to momentum to fling himself to the edge of the roof. His claws snapped onto the stone workings along the edge. They cracked slightly beneath his force and strength.


It sounded as clear as day to him. The shadow stayed low, crawling across the stone branch. The panther stalked its prey, trudging towards it with intensity. The deviant had to have been just an alley over. There’s no way he could have misjudged that sound.

However, a new sounded entered his periphery.

Words. He was talking to someone. No other heartbeat… had to by phone.

“Yeah, I found the stupid bitch but.. that thing man. That thing people are always yammering about..”

“Piper! Jesus calm down…. Now, tell me what’s going on?”

His white dagger eyes went as wide as the ocean.

The Dusk-no, TERRY knew that voice. It was strong and commanding. It was a father, a general, a true master. Old and wise, that man was. You could never meet another guy who knew his way around-well, pretty much anything, like he could. He’d been through almost everything life could throw at a human, and was still kicking. His voice always sounded like a motor, an old car that sounded like hell; but ran like it came out of the factory yesterday.

Yes.. it was him.. had to be.

“Morg….,” The Dusk whispered to himself as he crept up on the culprit, several stories above.

Morgan “Morg” Davis, the Family sweeper.

The voice hit Terry like the slam of a piano key. It wretched him like the twining of its strings. He almost had to physically hold his heart in response. That voice.. that voice.. he had not heard it in so absurdly long. The Family hadn’t once muttered a word to him after the incident where he flipped on his father. It was a blessing that they hadn’t come to kill Terry in his sleep for breaking the Steel Code. Deadbeat or not, the Family was a group of honor. You did not betray another family member, no matter the circumstances. However, Terry had done just that, to get justice for his dear fallen beloved. Terry should have been dead, and Morg would have been the one who would have done it.

Obviously, no such event ever occurred.

Graves often wondered if it was BECAUSE of Morg that that didn’t happen…

… A true father never brings harm to his son…

“W-well, I had ‘er cornered in this dumpster. Then so did it, it was reaching out for the lid like it was gonna drag ‘er down ta’ hell I swear ta’ God I-“

“No one is going to hell Piper. Now get your head out of your ass and listen to me. I want you t-“

The conversation was cut short.

Morg continued to try and coax the young boy into responding.

“Piper? What the hell is happening? Talk to me boy,” his voice remained calm and stern, as it always did.

All Morg could hear was the blood curling screams. He could hear his dear boy Piper’s voice box thumping as his body hit the ground. He heard the teen call for his mother. He questioned to the Lord Almighty why it had chosen him.

“Piper? Piper!” A hint of emotion peeled into Morg’s voice, just a little.

A sudden hollow crack echoed through the fallen phone. Morg was experienced, hardened from decades of experience. A sweeper knew the sounds the body makes. Such a distinct crack, it must have come from the twisting of the wrist. No doubt the hand had been rendered useless by now.

What sounds that Morg couldn’t identify were… disturbing. The phone echoed with what sounded like a pit viper hissing, except at a much more horrifyingly low tone. Over lapping that sound was the strong snarling of nothing short of a jungle panther in bass choir. It all mixed in a bloody blend with the wrenching screams of his associate. The shouts were suddenly muffled off by hand. The coming of the other wrist, snapping in two, pulsated through the phone. Persistent thudding, must’ve been repeated bellows to the rib, arm, and chest. A quiet thud against the pavement rung out. The boy had passed out from either shock or pain, probably both.

The quiet scratching of the boy’s trademark jacket against the blacktop. Whatever it was, was dragging his boy’s body. The sound stopped a few feet away, probably at the wall. There was a minute that spanned ages.

“His wrists are broken.. his filthy hands are useless now. ”

“He’s not dead pal.”

“No. But she will be. Keep your wife out of the jewels Morg… Or I’ll find her, and make her like the woman who died for the last jewel.”

There was a dark silence that harrowed even the soldier.

“…Yes you remember… Terry’s fiancé.. I hear they shot her twice… and she SUFFERED… Five minutes of choking on her own blood before she passed away on cold cobblestone..”

“You’re making a mistake,” his words weren’t strong, confident like they usually were. Guilt was a weapon of masterminds.

“The only mistake I’ll make is leaving your wife’s mangled body down a sewer drain if you don’t keep your new cat out of Family business. He will heal, but when he does, leave him to forging ledgers and mob matters… Or else he’ll be the one who shoots your wife in cold blood. And I’ll be there laughing at her bloody heap…”

“How do you know about that?” A quickening in his voice. He knew Morg remembered. He knew his shame.

“Nothing breathes in this city that doesn’t reach my ears Morg. Not even the Family is off limits, your personal space is all that keeps you safe.”

“You must be the thing running around lately… Humor me, who are you?”

“You don’t know Morg. And I want that to keep you up every night you roll over to check on your wife, just in case I’ve butchered her over a hunk of rock.”

The call ended.

The shadow could feel her eyes in the back of his head. He didn’t care. His shroud moved in complete black, moving towards her. His eyes did not meet hers, instead drifting away from her. The creature’s stance was purist, shoulders hunched. His tattered cape entirely enshrouded him. His horned feet walked not to her, but slightly past her. It was if he was going to walk away from her entirely, before he turned at a slight angle.

His head and eyes still refused to meet hers. Instead, his dark cloak opened ever so slightly. From it, he produced a sharp claw. So close, it looked to have human features, like a palm and digit segments. The ends were nearly blades however. Dangling between the finger daggers, was a gold chain trailing down to an opal pendant. It twinkled slightly in the slight slit of moonlight that dashed across the alleyway.

The Dusk remained silent.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Mar 29, 2015 3:22 am

As she watched the creature fly off into the night, the Nightingale followed him the best she could.  Taking the back routes made trailing him much more difficult, but there was no room to slip up again.  Eventually, she lost sight of him, but her faith kept her pushing in the direction she last saw him.  Not too long after, screams echoed nearby.

Swiftly, she found the source of all the noise and witnessed something quite horrendous.  The beast had the thief’s wrists wrapped in the very claws that encased her throat earlier that night.  The crackling of the bones breaking resonated as the creature ceased the wrists’ uses, and began to beat him senseless.  Her heart stopped from the shock and fear that rose within her as she watched it all unfold in front of her.  She wasn’t sure whether to be angered by the sheer brutality of it all or glad that he was able to stop him from causing more harm.

The man passed out and was leaned against the wall, and the creature picked up the phone and hissed at the person on the other line.

The Nightingale was rendered speechless as she heard the gruesome threats that were spoken.  

Everything froze within her.  Whatever darkness he harbored, it’s much more horrible than she could imagine.

He ended the phone call, and paused before turning around and facing his body in her general direction.  What she then saw was a hunched body and a heavy sadness drape his masked face as he drifted in her direction.  The shock was beginning to wear off, but she still felt like her feet were tied down by cinder blocks.  He stopped shortly past her and from underneath his cape he pulled out a necklace, adorned with a gorgeous opal pendant, and watched it with dead silence.

She turned towards him and watched the opal swing back and forth slowly, almost mesmerized by the sight of such a beautiful piece of jewelry.  The more the shock wore off, the easier it became to understand what he had truly done, why he was so enraged by her mission.  The Nightingale pulled out the pendant from her pouch and stared at it with a new understanding: this was flawed.  She was flawed.  Her decision to get involved was flawed.  This city, these people...this life.  It’s nothing like the one she knew so well back...home.  Her Robin Hood days once brought smiles and happiness to the people she truly cared for.  Now...it’s seeming to bring only destruction.

And he knew it from the start.

She looked back towards him, and the opal calmly ticking to each second that passed by.  She understood the sacrifice he made for her, and for the family she risked the life of.  The Nightingale only wished for a way to aid, to help...but she feared there was nothing her hand could do that would help anything.  But he can’t do this alone.

No one should have to face anything alone.

The opal continued to keep track of the passing seconds.

“You lost someone, didn’t you...because of that necklace.” the Nightingale spoke.  “That’s why you did all of this…”  She gazed at the creature’s glowing eyes.  In that moment, they seemed to have lost their edge.
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Tue Mar 31, 2015 11:50 pm

The opal necklace, glistening in the brief slit of moonlight, was absorbed back into the black shadow of his cloak. His horned head turned to a profile view, staring into a small puddle on the deformed alley floor. His glowing eyes seemed to lose their sharp edge as she muttered those words. The Dusk harrowed the alley in a whispering knowledge. Nightingale understood, but the knowledge came at a price. A forbidden tome had been creaked into. For a moment, and just a moment, there was a crack in the vile creature. The movement cascaded into a waterfall of days and months spanning the short period between the two. The woman stared at him like the sands of time through the hourglass. She saw the sand flowing through him, wearing him and blistering away.

Nightingale saw the sand peel away from his heart, revealing only a small sect of its area. The Dusk had allowed this, and by no other way could it have happened. His own will had carved a path for the young woman to see straight through the eyes of his that illuminated with his past. He spoke not another word to her, the question hanging in the air as a cold chill. She could only shiver in the impenetrable wall she had smashed into. Through a small crack in the wall, Nightingale caught a glimpse of something she had never seen to such severity in any being.

His attention was completely sucked away from her pure intrigue and genuine heartbreak. The Dusk produced the cell phone from his dark cloak. Like a twig, he snapped the phone in half with a metallic crunch. With a stoic composure, he let the shattered rectangle beat against the ground. Glass shards of the screen jingled across the wet blacktop. His white eyes grew sharp and grim once more. They stabbed into the phone below them, bubbling with inner anguish. There was a guttural noise that bellowed out from the lungs of the beast, like some sort of monstrous sigh.  The intimidating eyes winced, as if in physical pain. His shoulders hunched over, his spacious cape devouring all of his lower body. Somewhere in the black ink of his shadowed cloak, could be heard the jingling of the opal necklace. The Dusk gripped it extremely hard, hunching over more before striding to the far wall. With his clawed hands, he grabbed a downspout traveling down the side of the building. The sharp claws dug into the spout like a knife through aluminum. Using his powerful arm strength, the shadow began to ascend the white, torn pipe. His gnarled cape drifted slowly in the passing wind. It was all but certain that the beast was making his exit. Nightingale was surprised when the creature suddenly stopped within the darkness. A sound similar to the sigh from earlier bellowed from him, this time much more silent and drawn out. A cold wisp of fog floated out from the area of his face where a mouth should’ve been. His head turned profile once more, staring at her from the corner of his eye, sitting still.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Fri Apr 03, 2015 12:12 am

She couldn’t count how many times this...being, this person, introduced her to things, situations, feelings she never thought truly possible.  Never had she ever had to face anything quite like this before.  That split second that was shown to her of his pain and anguish...the Nightingale feared that that was all she was really ever going to get out of him.  But why does that matter?  Why can’t she just let him go?  He is a stranger after all, and a dangerous one at that. Yet...something unbeknownst inside of her kept pushing her to stick by him, to not leave his side.  Whether it was some kind of twisted gut instinct or an extreme case of curiosity, she decided to not fight against it.  There must be a reason for it, something maybe she couldn’t fully understand.  At least not yet.

She watched him stop mid-climb on the downspout, and caught him peeking over from the corner of his eye, sighing to himself.  Her brow furrowed in confusion, but didn’t take a moment to hesitate.  This was her chance.

“I can’t leave you to do this alone,” the Nightingale asserted, taking a few steps towards the night stalker.  “I’m going with you.”

Quickly, she came over and merged into the wall, and brought herself up to the top of the building in no time.  She came over to where he was climbing and held out her hand to him and smiled.

“You can trust me. We can stop them. Together.”
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sat Apr 04, 2015 10:50 pm

The bat hung from the perch on the spout, staring at her with a faded intensity. The woman was only about a foot away from him, extending her eager hand out into his personal space. For anyone else, this would have been a trip to the hospital. There was an interminable silence that hung in the air like the stench of a rotten body. Time had severed, leaving the Dusk and the mysterious woman in a trance of fate. The fabric of bond and life danced before his eyes, dazzling him with round faces and brass hair. There was something irrevocably familiar digging into him about the woman. Her shimmering eyes basked him in cascading allure. A crutch in his heart was being leaned on. He was internally befuddled by the whole ordeal. It had spun him in a twister of bizarre emotions, something of which was entirely infrequent for him.

So many days… nights of apathy or agony.

It struck him as so frighteningly bizarre to have more than those two emotions. Yet, he was crutched upon the spout staring intently at the open hand; not even sure how to respond to the mystery woman’s offer. She seemed sincere, but could he trust her? He’d placed his trust falsely before. The most disturbing aspect of the whole ordeal was perhaps that he was having such radical emotions as the Dusk and not as Terry Graves. For Terry, this would have been a much more acceptable response. It definitely would have been extremely rare, but nowhere near as out of the realm of possibility as it was for the Dusk to feel such strange tingling within him. It wasn’t even entirely a positive emotion, or was it? It was so hard to tell anymore. Had he even remembered what a positive sensation had been like?

The numbing he’d undergone had made such emotions extremely difficult to delve into. The messiah could return and he’d barely muster a smirk. This wouldn’t be to say Terry would be unhappy with such an event. Terry’s emotions had become something of a fossil in the past couple years. It was his defense mechanism. The horrors he has faced have trembled him to the core. Too many run ins with blades and the end have capsized his drive to feel freely as he used to. Feeling his emotions, as they were in pure form, had become entirely too dangerous of an affair to pursue. It was his defense mechanism to reject his emotions and bury them as far down within his very essence so no one, not even him, was able access them freely. The plan was nowhere near full proof. The drawback was that when somehow, these fossils were finally dug out, they would explode violently. Which, was entirely negative considering that Graves hadn’t had any reason to have this extreme emotions be positivity in quite some time. This left a gaping hole of ache and unbridled anguish from time to time. However, the majority of his existence was in apathy, blocking out his vivid memories and blanking his past. For the most part, it was a suitable plan.

But what could he honestly muster from accepting such an offer? Even if it was sincere?

He had to at least try. The Family had been in power for far too long. Morg was obviously trying to train new cats with his sweeping skills. Although a stretch, Terry knew that this could possibly work. People die. The Family murders people for God’s sake. The Dusk had all but ignored them just because their work was discrete and out of the public eye, even that of the underground had absolutely no idea most of the time. But Terry knew. Terry knew very well exactly what they did. Morg WAS a sweeper after all. It wasn’t just enemies of the mob either. If someone violated the Steel Code of Honor, they were subject to execution as well. Murderers… over something as silly as pride and honor. Some misplaced sense of unity and justice fueled Terry for so long, it practically blinded him to the evils involved in such a practice. It made it hard to see from an outside perspective since he’d been involved within it for so wrong. 

Times had changed.

It had been over two years since Terry had been with the Family. He was never much a joiner even when he was a part of the illustrious group. The only two members he ever really personally interacted with was his father and Morg. Everyone else were left to names and meets, nothing crucial or worthwhile to him. At least… not they had remembered. It was so hard to recall a life where he wasn’t the Dusk, where everything was… when Amy was…

The exclusionary rule was long overdue.

One brick at a time, the Dusk would tear the home right out from other the Family.

Slowly, his gnarled claw gently reached out to the woman’s glove. Like a deer, he softly approached her with his barbed finger tips. With the grace of a bird, it landed in her palm.

The Dusk immediately jolted, clinging to the spout for dear life. His muscles tensed and began to shake profusely. His white glowing eyes shot open white with a bang. The breathing of the beast became rapid and uncontrolled. He did his best to hold onto the white spout, but it was crumbling beneath his hands as his muscles tensed. All of a sudden his vision had become foggy like watercolors. He could barely see a damned thing. Cold sweat drenched him like a tidal wave. He kept darting his head around, trying to catch some sort of inkling of what was going on. He tried to find the mysterious woman in the distorted blotches of color in the darkness. His heart was pounded like a jackhammer into his chest. The pain was a searing fire that was burning him from the inside out. It literally felt like he was being stabbed over and over with a knife.

“Wh- what did you-,” was all he could growl.

The sudden sound of two gun shots rang through his head a muscle spasm finally forced his claws to tear through the fragile spout. His dark shroud of a body hurled down towards the pavement of the alley below. He smashed into a puddle hard, his horned head bouncing off the blacktop. Water refilled the puddle around his face. It was cool to the touch, trying to numb the searing pain now in his head. His head was what his first, eliminating any sort of awareness he had left.  The beast pressed his palms to the ground and tried to hoist his upper half up. The effort proved useless. The world was spinning and his lack of equilibrium tossed him head first back into the puddle. His forehead smacked the water hard, tearing through and hitting the hard blacktop below it.

The Dusk threw his head back, gasping for air from the water.

Cobblestone… this wasn’t…

He moved onto his forearms for support, trying to gain a sense of where he was. His head was still in scorching pain. It pounded him like a straight hooks into the head over and over. What sounded like thunder erupted from above him. It rumbled endlessly, only becoming quieter with each hum until a new blast would come to revitalize the booming orchestra.

Grass… there’s grass here.. I was… the Alley.. The woman. I-I…



Slowly, the Dusk found the wall to the alley and dug his claw into it.  Using his new found leverage, the shadow as able to hoist himself to a vertical stance. He clung heavily to the wall, using it as his crutch as he slowly tried to step forward.

The.. the blacktop.. it’s cobblestone now.. The wall, what? This.. this makes no..-

He stumbles a bit, gripping the wall hard.  The Dusk grunts hard. His head is heavy and spiraling, it was wanting him to plummet forward onto the pavement with all its might. The Dusk’s claw came up to his head, clutching it firmly. He tried to shake his head, trying to shake the cob webs away. The beast’s vision was still one huge blur of dark color.

Unluckily for whatever forces were at work against him, Terry Graves had an unbreakable will.

He powered through the pain. The Dusk gripped the wall tightly, not afraid to use its leverage. However, instead of a wall, Dusk found poles. He looked in his disfigured vision to see that the wall had dissembled into some sort of iron fence. He wrapped is gangly claws around it, hanging low and hunched over.

Lightning splashed the world in light, but only for a moment.


“AMY?!” he screamed back, catching a bright silhouette in the backdrop of the bathing white light. As the white faded, thunder rolled and the figure was gone. He dove, sacrificing this meager footing, towards where she was. The Dusk fell flat onto the cobblestone, hitting his upper shoulder hard. He grumbled and shook, hyperventilating fiercely.


He was choking up, pulling himself to sit up in the darkness around him. The colors of the sky were moving like a fierce whirlwind. He extended his gangly claw around the gated fence and tried to use it for leverage to lift himself back up. The lump in his throat was growing heavier by the minute.

“A-a-amy.. how..? I..I haven’t seen you in.. Oh..Amy-..”

He gave up, sliding down the fence into a slump at the bottom. His gnarled claw ripped the suit from his face, screaming out into the world around him as tears streamed down his face. He tried to cover his face, as if in the shame of someone seeing him. However, Terry was all alone in the alleyway. Terry was all alone.

He awoke from the darkness in some sort of alley, the same one he was in earlier. The mask part of his suit had been replaced. The Dusk was laying in some sort of trash and a woman was standing over him in a blur.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sat Apr 04, 2015 11:55 pm

And just like that, he broke. Right in front of her, his entire being shook violently as he clawed desperately for support. The pipe broke and she watched him fall to the bottom, his head landing into a puddle.

Oh no. No no no no.

The panic immediately mustered ferociously inside the Nightingale. Guilt, fear, pain, worry. All swirling in her as she heard his body slam onto the pavement.

What did I do..?

This question blared in her mind, repeating over and over like a record. How could a simple action as grabbing her hand cause such an outburst? It didn't make sense. None of this makes sense. This being was otherworldly in every way possible. There was so much to wrap her mind around...but there wasn't time for that now.

The Nightingale morphed into the walls and followed her way swiftly to the bottom and emerged to the being on his feet and hobbling alongside the other wall. Even in this delirious state, he proved to be quite swift. She ran in front of him and looked into his glowing eyes. They spoke silent words of a ghost lost in his own mind. Then he stammered a name.


The Nightingale's brow furrowed once more with utter confusion and concern. Wherever he was, he was trying to reach out to whomever Amy is. She stayed by him as he moved towards the end of the alleyway. By keeping her arms extended and near him, the Nightingale prepared to catch him if need be. At the end, a large heap of trash was present, and by the time they reached it the being finally fell down. The Nightingale caught him instantly, but almost went down with him. For someone as quick and light as he makes himself move, his dead weight was much heavier than anticipated. Nonetheless, she laid him as gently as possible in the trash heap and turned him over to face her.

The concern marking her face stuck as the creature began to come to his senses. He turned to stare right into her eyes with his, which appeared void of the grim and hostile nature they seemed to always hold. Instinctively she breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that he was becoming more aware of his surroundings.

"I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. Are you alright?" She bit down on her lip hard and let her eyes erratically search his face for answers. The waves of concern and care seemed to flood over her as she looked down upon his masked face. But why did she care so much? Not too long before he was on the verge of choking her to death, and now she's almost face to face with this supernatural beast. Yet, it felt completely natural. Almost like it was supposed to be this way...
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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Mon Apr 06, 2015 12:01 am


The Dusk let out a fierce, throat tearing scream. His wild claw darted at Nightingale in an erratic blur. The woman barely had any time to react before the palm slapped her gut with the force of a freight train. She barreled away from the shadow across the alley. Her spine slapped the wall, echoing like a racket to a wet blanket. There was a painful crackle as her back popped with the force. The sleek thief hit the pavement hard on one knee as the creature stumbled out of the trash, almost falling in the process. His breathing was spastic, the lump in his throat hollowing each quick breath. His knife white eyes darted down to the edge of the alley. With a wet exhale, The Dusk slithered down the path like a snake with super speed. His long wild cape became erect behind him, being dragged behind his incredible speed. Just as quickly as the Dusk had appeared, he had vanished in an emotional fury into the night.

The Dusk would dart into the open window of his lonely apartment. He barreled into the dull living room with a crash. He knocked over a lamp, falling into the shroud of his own cape. He kicked and punched at his own shroud, trying to tear it away from him. The struggle was getting harder by the moment. His breathing grew quicker and quicker, causing his lungs to burn.  He rolled onto his knees, using his claws to tear the mask away from his face. The suit tore like goop from his face. The excess material sucked back into the lower part of his suit.

Terry tried to breathe the open air to recess his pain. His claws clasped his face. He became suddenly aware of the tears streaming down his face. His pale gray eyes examined his damp barbed finger tips with disgust. He cursed and slammed his fist down on his nearby table, putting a hole through it. The destruction only made him more upset as he barely had any furniture as it was. Graves clutched his head, trying to stand as he shook his head violently. An extended claw pressed its palm against the bare white wall to support a shaking body. The effort proved futile as he slumped to the floor in a wailing heap. Through the tears, Terry tried to crawl to his bedroom.

Like a soldier behind enemy lines, he made his way on his spiked forearms into the dark room. Terry neglected to turn on the light as he arched up onto his knees. He stuck his claws into the suit around his chest and tore it asunder. The gel like substance peeled away from his chest, leaving him bare. Graves screamed, trying to throw pieces of the suit away from him; only to have each one slither back into his essence.

He growled in anger at his own stupidity and emotional overwhelming state. The claws receded away, leaving Terry with his own two bare hands. He proceeded to use this very same hands to bash himself upside the head. Graves yelled at himself, trying to persuade whatever aspect of him was breaking to end. The young man was finally able to reach his bed. However, he didn’t have the strength to climb up it. He instead sat with his back up against it, smashing his fists into his knees furiously.  Terry growled many absurd profanities at himself as if to punish himself for reacting to dramatically. Each fist into his body only seemed to increase the pain instead of diminish it.

The looming eyes of the boy caught the photos on the wall and he sighed, gently allowing the anguish to seep in instead of battling it so fiercely. All emotion in his face flushed down into one bare frown. His face was as pale as a gravestone, allowing the slow stream of water coming from his eyes to softly continue. His cold eyes never left the depictions upon the wall, using them as a sort of buffer between the pain and himself. He used her vibrant emeralds to guide his own emotional vehicle. Her cherry red hair took the wheel and drove him away from the imminent crash. Her quaint freckles parked and slowly let it hum away.

A solemn hand drifted through his long, dirty blonde locks, pushing the wild bangs away from his face. His bushy eyebrows furrowed hard. Terry’s eyes slammed shut. Graves had a pressure building up from his gut to his chest. He took a long and deep inhale of the air around him. His eyes remained shut, not budging from his spot. After about ten seconds, Terry finally let the air bellow back out in a long relieving exhale. The wounded warrior used his hand to catch the end of the bedpost, using it as leverage to hoist himself to a vertical base. His shirtless body crawled onto the side of bed. He sat on the edge, staring at the space between his legs in depression and confusion.

What the hell… was that? I..I haven’t had an episode like that in forever

He’d gotten so good at controlling himself and his emotions. It is was not as if someone could simply make amends with someone so close to them passing on. It was not something that never truly went away. It wasn’t something you ever forgot about or got over. Death is a creeping ailment that you will have to carry with you for the rest of your life. It’s never about finding the cure to the ailment. Instead, you must find a way to live with the disease and be stronger than it. Like patients with fatal diseases, you just have to fight and pray. Terry had become accustomed to this life. He was used to numbing off the darkest parts of his psyche. Apathy had become his new best friend. At least when he was feeling so little, he wasn’t feeling the darkness he knew he had inside. It was always bubbling like a pipe ready to burst. It was a constant management trying to coil the pressure. Almost always, Graves was able to succeed in this difficult endeavor.

It truly struck him as bizarre that he had another severe breakdown.

That girl… what was it about her? It had to be her fault. She was kind of shaped like her… perhaps that’s what triggered it… maybe it was the red hair…? I don’t know… sounds logical.

Then again, I pass girls like that every now and then, and they don’t really give me the same feeling. I mean, my heart sinks into my shoes; but I’m nowhere near a mental breakdown, much less one this severe.

The young man pressed his thumb to his teeth, nibbling on it to try and distill his stress. His gray eyes followed the messy floor, covered in clothing, up towards his open window. A cool breeze passed into the room, drifting his long hair ever so slightly. The gust curled around his bare chest and gave him goosebumps down his arms. He breathed slowly, allowing the air to cool him physically and emotionally.

I don’t know… What’s important is that she seemed to understand what was wrong with her life style. I’ll need to stay ontop of that but… progress is progress I suppose.

He finds a way to accept the night as a victory, a way to ward off his insanity. Terry falls into his bed, folding his sheets around him. The young man curls into a ball, extending his hand out to the stuffed animals a lost lover gave him long ago. He admired them with somber eyes that shined in the dim moonlight entering the room. His other hand stayed at his lip, nibbling the thumb passively.

She seemed so real…

Terry shook his head, ending that thought process before it broke him. Instead, he allowed the weight of his fatigue to claim him. It was not long before his eyelids grew heavy and slumber engulfed him.

I was.

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PostSubject: Re: Prowler [TheDusk/Nightingale]   Sun Apr 19, 2015 7:44 am

The blow on the wall did quite a number on her spine. Immense pain surged from her kneecap up through her entire body as it slammed onto the concrete. Thank God it wasn't broken, but it certainly felt like it. The Nightingale tried to ignore the pain to focus on the beast stumbling through the alleyway as fast as lightning, his cape flowing behind him. Her vision was severely blurred and could only make out his cape's shape before she fell over on her side and soon blacked out.


Darkness. That's all she could see. Everything was black; no direction, no guidance, no hope. Emilie looked around all over, not letting her hope be swallowed into the void encasing her. She realized she was floating horizontally, her body gracefully lying down in midair. It didn't take long for it to set in that she was dreaming. But this was so different from all her other ones. Usually there was scenery, a point, other beings conjured by her subconscious, anything. But where she lay, there was nothing all around her. Her heart flickered with fear for one brief moment, that she would be stuck here.


A soft voice came from below her. Emilie froze at the sound, though it seemed to be soothing more than anything else. At least she wasn't alone.

"Who are you?" Emilie questioned the voice. She tried to turn around but some unknown power kept her from being able to freely move herself.

"Don't let your fear control you. It will become your downfall if you succumb to its terrible power." The voice spoke, smooth as silk. Emilie only grew to be confused by the cryptic nature of this voice. Never has such a being been able to manifest itself freely within her mind. This was impossible.

Or was it..?

"My fear? Is that what is controlling me now?" Emilie asked, concern starting to show in her tone. A light giggle chimed in the distance.

"Smart. Trust yourself now," the voice seems to sing through her words. Or it sounded female at least. Who knows, this voice could be coming from a twisted and vile incarnation posing to be an innocent, all-knowing female human. Kind of like Grendel. Another faint laugh rang cheerfully throughout the darkness.

"Quite the imagination you have there, Emilie." She could hear the smile form on this mysterious being's face. Emilie wanted to ask more questions, but her chance slipped away before there was time to open her mouth.

"You must go now. Please, find him." The voice's tone spoke of all the worry in the world. Emilie was about ready to ask who the voice meant by 'him' before her eyes opened suddenly.


The Nightingale’s vision slowly sharpened as she awoke from her blackout. She found herself lying sideways, her cheek making contact with the now wet concrete. A light drizzle was falling down from the sky, leaving a consistent pitter patter as the droplets make contact with the ground. She tried to move her body but the pain was utterly overwhelming. It struck as a reminder of the events that just transversed throughout this eventual night.

How long have I been laying here?

Well, it was good that no one had seemed to disturb her while being unconscious. She watched the rain create a calming rhythm and used that to help bring some kind of peace to her weary and anxious mind. A few more minutes passed as she tried to let the rain slip her mind away.

I have to get up.

She clenched her teeth as she rolled herself over and attempted to push herself up. A groan slipped through as the aching from her back intensified dramatically when applying pressure on her arms.

I have to get up.

Slowly she got onto her knees. The right one began to burn harshly as she used it to support her, causing her to shift to the left to relieve some of the weight. The rain sprinkled gently on her face as she stared upwards into the night sky. The pipe from earlier was hanging off the wall from where the creature once was, right before…

Her mind then flooded with all the held back emotions, and tears began to form.

No, not now.

Determination then took it’s place. The Nightingale used all her strength to stand up and make her way back to the apartment. Judging by the way the creature fled, there was no way he’d be back for her tonight.

Using the outside wall of her apartment building, she entered into her bedroom. Just as she phased out of the wall all of her strength gave way and she collapsed to the floor. Unable to hold back anymore, tears fell down her cheeks. Her guilt and sorrow became overwhelming. This was not what she wanted. All she wanted was to help, yet what she seemed to accomplish was bring pain and suffering upon the ones she wanted to protect. After several minutes of this, Emilie removed the hood and mask from her head before pulling herself up slowly. Dragging herself to her closet, she removed her suit and pulled on the closest shirt within her reach. As she quickly put it on her eyes darted towards the digital clock on her end table.
3:28 AM. Another late night.

What was she going to tell Michelle in the morning? Surely her cousin will notice the bags forming under her eyes when she walks into the shop, and the probable wincing at the surging pains in her spine and knee. If only the truth was an option.

Emilie hid her suit in her main hiding place for it. Even in the midst of her pain, such a thing can never be overlooked. She limped over to the kitchen and made herself a makeshift ice pack wrapped in a dish rag and stuck it in the freezer for the morning. To help aid the pain further she took two aspirins and chugged them down with tap water from the sink. Glancing over her apartment area, she noted now it was beginning to become more and more unkempt. Emilie made a mental note to take care of that soon.

The crippled woman hobbled her way over to her bed and slumped herself into it, and allowed her fatigue to consume her conscience. Just before her mind slipped away into sleep, a voice whispered to her:

Find him.
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