when I was a child running in the night

[mouthbreathing]

Who: Warsman (mouthbreathing) and YOU
When: At night from the 27th to the 30th
Where: Out and around the city
Summary: Warsman is out on one of his nightly patrols. Things happen.
Warnings: Violence.

[It’s turning into a regular routine now: during the day he works and trains in whatever free time he has, and come the evening, if he’s not scheduled for an appearance at the Knot-A Fight Club, Warsman readies his bear claws to head out under cloudy night skies. There may not be much he can do on a larger scale- the Darkness is a hydra of danger, and for every monster he slays it feels as though three more spring up the very next night- but every person he catches just in time makes it worth it. And who else is going to help them in this part of the city- the homeless, the poor, the people with no other choice? He’s gotten so used to the white noise of indifference around here that the rare wail of a police siren or ambulance comes as a decided shock.

It’s the little things, though. He’s doing what he can, even casting his net a little wider some nights and getting to know the rest of the city around him. It's not so quiet beyond his usual sectors and there are usually more people around, but it still pays off on occasion if he catches a straggler or two abandoned to the elements.

Leftover rain spots his poncho from higher ledges as he scales an apartment block, bracing his feet on broken guttering and greasy window catches. Higher ground may make him more obvious, and it may be so dark that he won’t be able to see further than a block or so, but any precaution is a precaution worth taking out here. Warsman heaves himself up onto the rooftop and surveys the area with dimly glowing eyes.]

[ooc: I'm up for just about any scenario! Rescuing someone, being rescued, working together, getting into a fight, etc... just start a scene or drop a suggestion and I'm good. I also don't mind starting things off!]

Comments

[mouthbreathing]

[It's a relief to get the boy down off of his shoulder, given that Warsman spent the climb half-paranoid that he'd slip or panic and fall down the side of the building. As he steps back to give him the once over, though, he doesn't seem to be in bad shape physically; he's white-faced and bewildered-looking and Warsman isn't sure he'll stay upright for a moment or two, but he's in one piece, and that's what counts.

He doesn't respond or ask anything else immediately- it seems wiser to give him a little room to calm down just to start with, and at first he busies himself with sheathing his bear claws. The thank you provides a pleasant cue to answer.]

Don't mention it. [He shakes his head slightly, tone a little wondering.] I just want to know why on earth you were writing out in the Darkness.

[rewritter]

I was... trying to finish a story.

[ saying it out loud did make it sound a lot more ridiculous than he'd thought, but it was the truth. as if just realizing what he'd just said, he quickly shuffled over the papers of his novel, as if making sure everything was in place, then frowned and shook his head. it was dark out, he couldn't see anything, what was he thinking. he'd do that later. ]

What were you doing?

[ ... though he was aware that practically any other answer would've been more reasonable than his. ]

[mouthbreathing]

[That's... okay, so he wasn't quite what sort of explanation he was expecting considering the set-up, but even so. He was sure there had to be something understandable in here. Warsman stares at him for a moment, slightly thrown.]

I... I patrol the city at night, looking for people in trouble. [Or people struggling to finish a novel. He can only hold his tongue on the more obvious question for so long, though.] Why were you writing it out here?

[rewritter]

I didn't notice it had become that late. I'm normally not this careless!

[ okay, that sounded pretty pathetic even for him. he resists the urge to facepalm at himself and just searches the roof for a door to the building as a distraction for his own stupidity. ]

Do you think there's a way inside?

[mouthbreathing]

[Warsman coughs quietly, trying to find a way of answering that doesn't make the boy feel any more awkward than he probably already does.]

It... happens. [then, quickly:] There could be, but it might be Darkness-proofed shut. [He heads over to the rooftop entrance, rattling the door experimentally. Pausing, he glances back over his shoulder.] ... I'm sorry. I didn't answer your name.

[rewritter]

[ ... RIGHT, NAMES. this time he really does facepalm. okay, maybe he was a little more shaken by the whole thing than he'd thought. ]

I hope not. And it's Fakir. You?

also *ask WOW I CAN'T WORD

[mouthbreathing]

[Ah- well, that didn't quite work, did it?]

Warsman. It's nice to meet you, anyway. [He pauses, surveying the area briefly.] If it helps, I could always escort you back home.

IT'S COOL

[rewritter]

I... that's probably a good idea. They'll eat me alive out there.

... Would I have to be carried again.

[mouthbreathing]

That depends. [He tilts his head.] Do you think you can keep up?

[rewritter]

Depends on how fast they are. But...

[ he glances down at his notepad. ]

It might be possible for me to slow them down.

[mouthbreathing]

Slow them down? [He follows Fakir's eyes down to the notebook a little doubtfully. Short of throwing it at them, he's not sure how helpful it might be.] How do you mean?

[rewritter]

I might be able to... influence them somewhat. It's hard to explain.

[ scribbling something in the ink-spattered notebook with an air of THIS IS SERIOUS BUSINESS. ]

[mouthbreathing]

Influence them...? [Yes, he's parroting, but now he's totally lost. Fakir seems to know what he's doing and he doesn't want to seem distrustful, but...] I've got your back still. If it doesn't work, I'm picking you up again and running.

[rewritter]

[ he seems to be struggling with something as he tries to write more. controlling others isn't easy, and he doesn't like even trying. ]

... Sector six isn't that far away, is it?

[mouthbreathing]

[The struggle is obvious, even in the dark; Warsman is reluctant to interrupt unless he has to.]

Not too far. Ten minutes?

[rewritter]

... That might be enough.

[ he exhales deeply and finishes the last sentence. it seems to have taken a bit out of him, but he spares a quick glance around to see if there's any way dow--oh a fire escape ladder. heading towards o/ ]

Let's get going, then.