Closed RP ///HAUNT.

This RP is currently closed.

annasiel

General Admin
Staff member
///Assess.

Distant sirens echoed across the city. Every hour, on the hour. From time to time, a car raced down the nearby street - here the rattling roar of an old Ford, there, the heavy whine of a rat-rod. They were gone as quickly as they came. Nobody stopped near a place like this at this time of night. Nobody who valued their wellbeing. And the few who did, well, they were more often than not the reason places like this were dangerous.

Danger lurked under the cover of night, the only witness burnt out streetlamps and smog-hazed stars.

A man stood nearby, leaning against a mildewed brick wall. From the edge of the alley, she waited, watching him pull a cigarette from his pocket and hold it haphazardly between his fingers. She had reached out a faint tendril, probing his clothes, his pockets, his body - he had a gun, and a phone, and a pack of menthols in his back pocket. He favored his left leg. His pinky twitched from time to time. His shoes were beginning to peel, the tread detaching.

She knew this man. And he was not what she was looking for. A minor nuisance more than a threat, a nonfactor more than a potential tool. She began to pull her feelers back, the nodes retracting to where her main cluster hid in the nearby shadows - when his demeanor changed. He was shifting, eyes moving, hand pressing against the heavier of his two side pockets. Had he seen her?

///Wait.

He narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness.

"Someone there?" He coughed, tossing the cigarette and crushing it to ash as he moved a bit closer to the alley's entrance. "You gonna be a problem?"

///Affirm.

Like a mist across a lake - like a pyroclastic flow - she descended on him. This close, she knew him, again, closer than she had before. She felt his face contort in fear. She felt his heart thrum. His breath catch.

"The fuck -" he half-shouted, half-choked. Too surprised to scream or shout. Take advantage of this. Noise attracts unwanted attention, and for now, she preferred to avoid undue scrutiny. Out of her mass, she coalesced a solid piece, a coalescence in the shape of a long, thin rod ending in a near-invisible point.

"Be silent. You are not a part of this."

Her voice buzzed from a trillion places at once. She watched his eyes widen. Felt his hands grab at the spike, felt him struggle to push it back. But he was merely human. He was a nonfactor. Easily erased. A single thrust, and it slipped through his fingers, pushing up and in through the corner of his eye. Warmth. Damp. She retracted, pulling back into the chilly night, leaving the man to silently stumble back and collapse in a shivering huddle.

He would no longer be a threat to anyone.
 
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Blackwell slowly woke from her sleep by the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. She jerked up from her sleeping spot beside a dumpster in a Chinese restaurant's alleyway. Her thick black hair, French braided and half-wrapped around her neck, stunk to high hell. A single whiff and she pulled a face as she stood up. With two fingers, she gingerly peeled her own hair away from her neck and sighed. She hadn't looked around for who might've touched her, she already knew.

The hand, attached to a massive and powerful arm sprouting from her back, rested gently on her left shoulder. A quick glance would confirm the other on her right. Her own hands, as if they had a mind of their own, had shaken her awake. The two arms, as long as her whole body and as thick as her thighs, folded themselves as closely as they could to her back and rested themselves upon her shoulders. They were her constant companions, her only friends, and her silent tormentors. A reminder constant of what she was.

Brushing off her dirty military fatigues, she reached down and picked up her large green duffle bag. Inside contained more than just a spare change of clothes and some comic books, it contained her whole life. She slung it over her shoulder and had the 'lower' right hand hold the sling in place. Her arms didn't have special names, that would be weird, but she did denote 'lower' to her extension limbs and 'upper' to her more normal body parts.

Reaching back and tapping her 'lower' left hand with her 'upper' left, Blackwell pulled the seven fingered hand forward and looked at the watch strapped to her wrist. 3am. Still a few more hours til daylight and she was wide fucking awake. Running her hands through her hair, then immediately regretting it as the smell hit her, Blackwell decided to look for somewhere to shower. Showering while homeless was the hardest thing, she found. Harder than having a decent meal or finding a place to sleep. She could piss in public restrooms, bum food from restaurants, but showers? A fucking rarity.

Blackwell walked out of the alleyway and proceeded down the street. She hadn't made it but a few blocks, however, before one of her lower arms acted up again. The right released the strap of her sling back and snapped out, gripping the brick corner of an entrance to another alleyway. Suddenly leaning to catch her quickly falling bag, Blackwell snapped at her own limb, "What the fuck?!"

The arm didn't respond, having moved of its own accord to stop her and on account of it not being able to speak. Blackwell looked down the alleyway and, in the darkness, spotted what looked like someone's feet sticking out from behind a corner. A collapsed drunk, an overdose, a body? Who could say what it was... and it wasn't Blackwell's problem. Reaching out, her upper right arm gently pulled her lower off the wall. Feeling sensation return to the limb, Blackwell used her lower arm to pull back up her bag and hold it in place.

This wasn't her problem.
 
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