Post by Green Arrow on Oct 9, 2012 20:47:48 GMT -5
Current Playable Characters: Green Arrow and Effigy.
Character Attempting: Dick Grayson.
Audition Tape
“Look, lady.” In the alley’s harsh lighting the man’s face - crevices dug into his expression through years of stress and probable alcoholism - appeared more sinister than he intended. That wouldn’t stop him from the audible strike that he landed upon the frightened woman’s face, however, as he attempted to keep her quiet. “I’m not looking to hurt ya’,” he muttered, allowing a rough palm to slide along her side. “Just relax and you might even like it yourself.”
“Please... No...” Tears welled in her wide eyes, cerulean lost in the stream that stained her cheeks with charcoal as her make-up was ultimately ruined. “I have money. Take it, please,” she begged, clutching her purse to shove between them. “I have jewelry. Take it all. Leave me alone.”
His hand neared dangerously close to the modest slit in her skirt, teeth bared in a salacious smile. “If I needed money, honey, I’d hit a bank. No,” he mumbled. His voice had become muffled as he closed the distance between them, burying his nose in her neck. “You’re a little bit of fun, that’s all.” Despite his promise of pleasure, that hadn’t even come close to stopping her harsh expels of fright, terror filling her lungs only to expunge into the shadows that filled this crime-saturated alley. “Gotta’ keep your mouth shut,” the thug commented, low enough to not mask the switchblade that he removed from his pocket in its pitched ring, “or you’ll have a hard time talking, sweetheart.”
“You know,” a third party announced in its appearance, followed by an escrima stick thrusting its blunted tip directly into the would-be rapist’s face, “'no' really does mean 'no,' pal.” A massive obsidian blur crashed atop the man as he shoved the lady away, clutching at his crushed orbital bone in agony, soon enough planting the former stick’s twin against the thug’s throat. “If you keep still, this won’t hurt a bit.” Nightwing lifted his free arm and threw it back down to crack against his newest prey’s face - at the temple, to be precise - and felt him go slack under this blunt trauma. With that, he smiled and snagged at his boot to retrieve one of the birdcuffs that he kept on his person. “Huh. I was right,” he replied to himself, “that was fun.”
Dick flipped the man back over onto his back, removed one of his bird-a-rangs, and strung him up to later be retrieved by the local P.D. once they received an anonymous call. Though he hoped it wasn’t too soon for the man to relish in the pain he had been admonished, to learn that he shouldn’t attack random people as they passed by on the street. He launched the target up across a light pole, looped it around, and groaned as he tugged the other side toward his chest to anchor the rope to pull the thug in a vertical position, hanging upside down for a few hours. Quickly, Nightwing affixed a careless smile and approached the near victim, offering his hand to assist her upward after the nasty spill into some garbage. “Ma’am,” Dick tried his best to assert his voice, “uhm, I’m sorry, I hadn’t caught your name. Was sort of caught up in all of that.” He shot a thumb back to the foggy-headed thug.
“Oh,” the raven-haired lady replied sheepishly, staring up at this tall, brooding man adorned in form-fitting kevlar, though she couldn’t possibly know that heavy a detail. “I’m.. I’m Deborah.” She hung her hand out innocently, using the hero’s leverage to lift herself back to her feet. “It’s getting to the point that I can’t even walk home from work. It’s pretty sad.”
Dick shrugged to the notion, nodding once in agreement. “Well, let him hang around a bit before you call the cops - if you didn’t mind doing that, at least,” the bird boy implied with an even more boyish smile, “and, I’ll keep an eye out.” He almost forgot, but that reminded him it could be a nice way to start testing a new toy that he had created. Leaning over, he snagged a remote tracker from one of the pouches tucked beneath the lining of his kevlar, and handed it to the woman. “If you need any help, try and give me a page. I’ll drop by again.”
She couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a phone number, but she had gotten a direct link to the hottest crime fighter that she had ever seen. Playing it cool, however, could be the issue. “OK,” she coughed in attempts to keep the giggle that almost surfaced down, “I’ll do that, erm...” Confusion swept momentarily, the realization hitting that she hadn’t learned his name.
“Nightwing.” He hadn’t expected to reply - most people knew him - but, he did and simply jettisoned himself back into the evening’s patrol. There were more people to save, and more punching bags to string up, so he couldn’t sit around and flirt all night. Even though that could have been nice.
Man, sometimes it wasn’t fun not taking any breaks.
“Please... No...” Tears welled in her wide eyes, cerulean lost in the stream that stained her cheeks with charcoal as her make-up was ultimately ruined. “I have money. Take it, please,” she begged, clutching her purse to shove between them. “I have jewelry. Take it all. Leave me alone.”
His hand neared dangerously close to the modest slit in her skirt, teeth bared in a salacious smile. “If I needed money, honey, I’d hit a bank. No,” he mumbled. His voice had become muffled as he closed the distance between them, burying his nose in her neck. “You’re a little bit of fun, that’s all.” Despite his promise of pleasure, that hadn’t even come close to stopping her harsh expels of fright, terror filling her lungs only to expunge into the shadows that filled this crime-saturated alley. “Gotta’ keep your mouth shut,” the thug commented, low enough to not mask the switchblade that he removed from his pocket in its pitched ring, “or you’ll have a hard time talking, sweetheart.”
“You know,” a third party announced in its appearance, followed by an escrima stick thrusting its blunted tip directly into the would-be rapist’s face, “'no' really does mean 'no,' pal.” A massive obsidian blur crashed atop the man as he shoved the lady away, clutching at his crushed orbital bone in agony, soon enough planting the former stick’s twin against the thug’s throat. “If you keep still, this won’t hurt a bit.” Nightwing lifted his free arm and threw it back down to crack against his newest prey’s face - at the temple, to be precise - and felt him go slack under this blunt trauma. With that, he smiled and snagged at his boot to retrieve one of the birdcuffs that he kept on his person. “Huh. I was right,” he replied to himself, “that was fun.”
Dick flipped the man back over onto his back, removed one of his bird-a-rangs, and strung him up to later be retrieved by the local P.D. once they received an anonymous call. Though he hoped it wasn’t too soon for the man to relish in the pain he had been admonished, to learn that he shouldn’t attack random people as they passed by on the street. He launched the target up across a light pole, looped it around, and groaned as he tugged the other side toward his chest to anchor the rope to pull the thug in a vertical position, hanging upside down for a few hours. Quickly, Nightwing affixed a careless smile and approached the near victim, offering his hand to assist her upward after the nasty spill into some garbage. “Ma’am,” Dick tried his best to assert his voice, “uhm, I’m sorry, I hadn’t caught your name. Was sort of caught up in all of that.” He shot a thumb back to the foggy-headed thug.
“Oh,” the raven-haired lady replied sheepishly, staring up at this tall, brooding man adorned in form-fitting kevlar, though she couldn’t possibly know that heavy a detail. “I’m.. I’m Deborah.” She hung her hand out innocently, using the hero’s leverage to lift herself back to her feet. “It’s getting to the point that I can’t even walk home from work. It’s pretty sad.”
Dick shrugged to the notion, nodding once in agreement. “Well, let him hang around a bit before you call the cops - if you didn’t mind doing that, at least,” the bird boy implied with an even more boyish smile, “and, I’ll keep an eye out.” He almost forgot, but that reminded him it could be a nice way to start testing a new toy that he had created. Leaning over, he snagged a remote tracker from one of the pouches tucked beneath the lining of his kevlar, and handed it to the woman. “If you need any help, try and give me a page. I’ll drop by again.”
She couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a phone number, but she had gotten a direct link to the hottest crime fighter that she had ever seen. Playing it cool, however, could be the issue. “OK,” she coughed in attempts to keep the giggle that almost surfaced down, “I’ll do that, erm...” Confusion swept momentarily, the realization hitting that she hadn’t learned his name.
“Nightwing.” He hadn’t expected to reply - most people knew him - but, he did and simply jettisoned himself back into the evening’s patrol. There were more people to save, and more punching bags to string up, so he couldn’t sit around and flirt all night. Even though that could have been nice.
Man, sometimes it wasn’t fun not taking any breaks.
