ArchivedLogs:Angels in the City

Angels in the City
Dramatis Personae Anette, Killian, Teague	2015-07-26 "If I'm your guardian angel, you're really screwed."
Location <NYC> Upper West Side
One of the greenest parts of the grey iron and steel of New York City, it is not merely the proximity to Central Park that makes this neighborhood of Manhattan so. Trees and small parks are scattered throughout the neighborhood, as well as memorials and pedestrian-only streets. There are many theatres in the neighborhood, second only to Times Square and the museum mile in its cultural offerings. Since appearing in a news cycle recently and being recognized more than once, Teague has kept a low profile more than ever. Still, being spotted and living to tell the tale has been cathartic. Behind small, round, black-out glasses, the teen sits on the brick wall of a small public garden just across the street from the American Ballet Academy. He wears a small black tee, cut-offs made from black skinny jeans, and black canvas shoes. His long dark hair is seperated into two long Pocahontas braids, which hang over either shoulder. Flicking some ash from his cigarette, he watches the dancers laugh and chit-chat while they chain smoke out front of the school. There's a little gathering of cigarette buds beneath his feet. The weather is so nice today that the usually (lately) recluse Anette has decided today is good for a nice picnic. Of course, she does it a bit differently than most and she's currently perched on top of a nearby building, people watching as she munches on a burger from a nearby fast food joint. Her coat is laying next to her, allowing her wings to flutter freely in the breeze. As of right now, her interest lies in the teen boy smoking and watching the ballet dancers. There's a short-placed extra step, something that seems just slightly off balanced as Killian rounds a corner overflowing with fully bloomed purple and white flowers, as if he just broke off from a run or.. something.. that created more momentum than a quick turn immediately overcomes. But it's only that brief moment that occurs before he's walking normally out from the public garden, into which he certainly hadn't been seen to go recently. Normal, for him, being casual, lazy, not obviously concerned with the goings-on around him. But as his exit would bring him within close proximity of the dark-lensed smoking boy right around the brick corner, an odd grin with narrowed eyes on inspection of him would follow a curious tilt of his head in something that could be considered a greeting perhaps in passing. Teague cocks his head back indignantly at Killian's sudden, and too close, appearance. Holding his cigarette over his shoulder, the boy allows his sunglasses to slide down the bridge of his nose just fractionally. He regards the man confidently with seductive, heavy lidded eyes - perhaps in his head /that/ could be considered a greeting in passing. He takes a drag, not looking away. Anette has just finished her burger and decides things have gotten a little too quiet. So she picks up her coat and garbage and stands up on the edge of the roof. When the coast looks clear as far as people seeing her, she jumps, spreading her wings out and carefully gliding to the ground, landing not to far from Teague and Killian. She quickly throws on her coat, tucking her wings from sight and slipping her talons into her sleeves. It's a little trickier to hide the yellow eyes though. Whether it's faint recognition from those news reports or just by some other social cue, Killian's grin draws into something wider, the edges upturned in something near a smirk. More smug than anything, the tilt of his head corrects, his step pausing as he allows his gaze to drift across the street to the dancers he'd been watching previously. Whatever surely witty comment would have been to follow is paused for the sake of a winged woman gliding down from a rooftop. "A friend of yours?" Asked of Teague, though the direction of it is not so clear. The boy in all black mirrors Killian's expression with a knowing little catlike smirk of his own. When the question is broached, he pinches the corner of his glasses and brings them back up to conceal his eyes. "You can see her, too?" The British teen asks in a breathy tone, holding his cigarette close to his mouth, "That's my guardian angel." Teague takes another drag. "If I'm your guardian angel, you're really screwed," Anette replies with a grin. Yellow eyes scan Teague briefly as she offers a friendly smile. "Good to know you're still alive anyway. Haven't seen you in a while." She then turns to face Killian, her smile morphing into more of a smirk. "So, I don't think I've seen you before. New around here?" "I shouldn't be able to?" Killian asks to the boy in black first, his bored amusement becoming slightly less-so. "Seems fairly real t'me." He folds his arms across his chest, leather jacket rustling quietly in the effort. "Guess take whatever y'can get these days. Need it." Follows Anette's reply to her apparent title, and to her question to him receives a lopsided, one-shouldered shrug. "You're probably right in that." About not seeing him, and of being new to the city? "Mm," A breath of a sound as he considers the best way to answer that for her, "On two legs anyway." Planting the heels of his hands down on either side of him for balance, Teague slowly switches his crossed legs. He might have been about to speak, but stiffens. "HEY! YOU!" A baritone call booms from across the street towards the trio and perhaps Anette in particular, but a passing town-car temporarily blocks it's origin. Red-faced from his working lunch, a bull-like man in a suit strides confidently over the edge of the curb. An associate tries to stop him, only to be shouldered aside by the man's drunk strength. "I saw that, you fucking MUTIES!" "Son of a...not this again..." Anette grumbles. "Everytime I go near Zabar's..." She does not look thrilled with this new turn of events. She attempts to ignore the drunk business man but when she's sure he's not turning away any time soon, she suddenly twists her neck so only her head is facing him. Her eyes angrily shine yellow and she releases a loud screech, hoping to scare him off. Quicklys snapping her head in the proper direction, she glances towards the others. "We might want to head out..." "Apparently he can, too." Killian's chuckle is under his breath, half-hearted and sarcastic. He doesn't visibly tense but he does slink back a step, releasing his arms from their fold to place a gloved hand on the bricks. "Can't get enough of the friendly welcomings." Is more an agreement to Anette's recommendation than anything. His grin hasn't left him, even if this isn't supposed to be an entertaining turn of events. The scraping of cloth on brick denotes him sliding farther behind the corner until he's out of immediate sight, using Anette's screech as a moment of opportunity. A rustling of the slightly overgrown bushes' leaves, a sound of fluttering, flapping that aren't from the owl-y one that had joined them. A hawk, a juvenile based on its patchy brown feathering, scrambles its talons up onto the corner of the gardens, an intense eye angling at the mutants than with the classic bird-like quick tilt at the drunk man. Wings remain collected, but the bird's body tilted forward as if ready to spring into the air. The screech gains the attention of everyone around, in unison passersby, the man's friend, and the dancers lounging against the academy turn their heads. The man was two-thirds of the way across the two-laned street before Annette's exorcist twist and startled, begins to stumble back and is struck by a cab. Not fatally, though! How crazy would that be?! The businessman is tossed forward as the yellow car screeches to a sudden hault. Like a rag-doll, he rolls limply forward before coming to a stop a yard off. As the cab driver and his passengers step out of the vehicle, and more cars step behind them, Teague puts out his cigarette and lifts up onto the brick wall. He breathes out an impressed huff at Anette, withdrawing between two ballerina-shaped topiaries. "....well fuck," Anette mumbles, turning and glaring at Teague as he huffs at her. No time for being subtle, she quickly removes her coat and takes off, aiming for the roof of a much taller building than the one she arrived from for shelter. She quickly lands and crouches down. She inches as close as she can to the edge as she can without revealing herself, relying on her hearing rather than sight to judge the circumstances. The smallish red tail mantles its wings as the collision occurs, a click of its beak preceding a lower crouch and a rapid down winging to propel itself into take off. It vaults higher, apparently using the tailwinds of Anette's much larger wingspan as it follows her in suit. Once she lands, however, Killian dips, almost scathing the rooftop beyond, primaries brushing the stone. Legs rake forward to grab and then sling himself over the ledge of the edge of the building and to disappear down into the alley below. Likely visible to Anette from her vantage point, Teague makes his way briskly through the small park. Forgoing breaking into a run, which might draw attention, he crosses into the next city block and out of sight. The chaos under the steps of the American Ballet Academy continues to grow as a traffic pile-up begins. Horns blare as people amass to crowd around the fallen man as he tries to rise to his feet on his own. One dance brings her hand flatly to her eyebrows and looks up in the direction in which the two birds flew, but the sun blocks her vision.