02-15-2014, 09:34 AM
Four professional killers armed to the teeth, and they didn't expect a fight? Spectra's laugh sparkled glittering merriment. Hood was always so amusing.
Her back chilled without the warmth of his palms pressed against her. Her own inner fire could only warm her so much, and Moscow was a cold, cold city. She'd grown used to the extra sensory perceptions flooding her conscious with information, but the addition of far distant sirens warned her of police arrival before Hood had crossed to the window. Sirens were such a horrid sound. If only her powers could discover a way to muffle the wailing. Cars couldn't be strangled quite as easily as an infant in the crowd.
She stole Hood's coat, and was busy with the sleeves when he mentioned calling their respective people. She wasn't concerned with police either, except for the prospect of sitting in a disgusting station. Especially compared to the alternative way this night should have turned out. If those four bodies weren't already dead, her glare alone would have stopped their hearts.
"My manager handles security,"
she shrugged indifferently. Who cared where they came from? She watched her own back since she was five. A child that learned how to deflect the palms of angry drug lords and their lieutenants was a far greater service to her than beasts in body armor.
The pelts of her coat were less soggy than her dress, but they had been trampled none the less. Edvin, her stylist, would be annoyed. The coat, like the jewels strung through her ears, were on loan from the designer.
Her back chilled without the warmth of his palms pressed against her. Her own inner fire could only warm her so much, and Moscow was a cold, cold city. She'd grown used to the extra sensory perceptions flooding her conscious with information, but the addition of far distant sirens warned her of police arrival before Hood had crossed to the window. Sirens were such a horrid sound. If only her powers could discover a way to muffle the wailing. Cars couldn't be strangled quite as easily as an infant in the crowd.
She stole Hood's coat, and was busy with the sleeves when he mentioned calling their respective people. She wasn't concerned with police either, except for the prospect of sitting in a disgusting station. Especially compared to the alternative way this night should have turned out. If those four bodies weren't already dead, her glare alone would have stopped their hearts.
"My manager handles security,"
she shrugged indifferently. Who cared where they came from? She watched her own back since she was five. A child that learned how to deflect the palms of angry drug lords and their lieutenants was a far greater service to her than beasts in body armor.
The pelts of her coat were less soggy than her dress, but they had been trampled none the less. Edvin, her stylist, would be annoyed. The coat, like the jewels strung through her ears, were on loan from the designer.