Jan 14, 2021 19:31:26 GMT
Post by Coryelle Wilde on Jan 14, 2021 19:31:26 GMT
my name is human
w/ Alice Morrow
"Hell, Nobo, clear as daylight in this thing," she spoke quietly to the ghost in her mask, making it down the rooftop with both haste and extreme ease thanks to the crystal clear image the vision through the visor gave her even in the low-lit, nighttime streets. "Know I've said it before, but damn can you cook." After reaching ground level, she walked with an outrageously casual and open pace across the street as she saw the last bits of Paladin round-housing the poor grunt into next week. "Tck!" she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, probably inaudible, and pointed a congratulatory finger gun the hero's way.
Once his body was safely dragged away and tucked beyond the corner, she jogged the rest of the way across the street and bit off to the side to stay more in-line with the edge of shadow rather than risking her visor catching the dim, old lights of the great-depression-era building. Thanks to the perfect picture Jack's creation offered, getting to the building and on top of it was a piece of cake. Getting in was a whole different story... She climbed up the corner along the cast iron pipe she'd seen before; offering plenty of stability and never even budging an inch which kept her incredibly silent as she set foot on the concrete lip of the roof made of old, large panes of glass.
"Shit..." she sighed the curse under her breath, making sure to look from the furthest side she could to the other in order for her ghost to get a good look. At least half a dozen men were wide awake and sitting on a pair of scattered sofas or discarded oil drums. There were a few newer looking stacked crates in the corner by a dock door, but the rest of the building was terribly wide open and completely gutted from whatever original purpose it served. No door was going to do... "Option one: shatter the glass and take down one or two before they turn me into bullet hole swiss cheese. Option two? The fan," she glanced over to a wall with an incredibly old, rusted, large fan that probably hadn't rotated in decades. There was a grate facing the outside, but none on the inside. "Could risk the noise of that thing and probably tetanus, try and squeeze between the blades. Neither's good. I'm open to one of your genius suggestions," the last sentence she spoke with a minor grunt as she pressed up on her knee to stand and tight-rope-walk about the lipped edge of the roof until she could see a teal head beneath her.
Rather than calling down, Punk lifted a hand to the side of her visor and gave it one tap, two taps, three taps - a little flash of light beaming down to try and get her attention. Her hands extended out and showed a measurement, about a ten inch width, and pointed to where she stood. Hopefully that wasn't too hard to catch on... The vigilante showed the measurement again, pointed down to her feet again, and then beckoned the hero.
Once his body was safely dragged away and tucked beyond the corner, she jogged the rest of the way across the street and bit off to the side to stay more in-line with the edge of shadow rather than risking her visor catching the dim, old lights of the great-depression-era building. Thanks to the perfect picture Jack's creation offered, getting to the building and on top of it was a piece of cake. Getting in was a whole different story... She climbed up the corner along the cast iron pipe she'd seen before; offering plenty of stability and never even budging an inch which kept her incredibly silent as she set foot on the concrete lip of the roof made of old, large panes of glass.
"Shit..." she sighed the curse under her breath, making sure to look from the furthest side she could to the other in order for her ghost to get a good look. At least half a dozen men were wide awake and sitting on a pair of scattered sofas or discarded oil drums. There were a few newer looking stacked crates in the corner by a dock door, but the rest of the building was terribly wide open and completely gutted from whatever original purpose it served. No door was going to do... "Option one: shatter the glass and take down one or two before they turn me into bullet hole swiss cheese. Option two? The fan," she glanced over to a wall with an incredibly old, rusted, large fan that probably hadn't rotated in decades. There was a grate facing the outside, but none on the inside. "Could risk the noise of that thing and probably tetanus, try and squeeze between the blades. Neither's good. I'm open to one of your genius suggestions," the last sentence she spoke with a minor grunt as she pressed up on her knee to stand and tight-rope-walk about the lipped edge of the roof until she could see a teal head beneath her.
Rather than calling down, Punk lifted a hand to the side of her visor and gave it one tap, two taps, three taps - a little flash of light beaming down to try and get her attention. Her hands extended out and showed a measurement, about a ten inch width, and pointed to where she stood. Hopefully that wasn't too hard to catch on... The vigilante showed the measurement again, pointed down to her feet again, and then beckoned the hero.
Break in buddies!
