ArchivedLogs:Smoke Break

Smoke Break
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Steve
In Absentia	2015-12-27 "{Not gonna pull your punches, are you?}" (Warning: friendly violence, some blood.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Rooftop - Lower East Side
An open-air escape especially popular with smokers and fliers, the Common House rooftop makes good use of its limited space. The railing that circles it has child-resistant gates where walkways can be extended to connect to the other buildings in the development. A colorful and ever-changing table with sometimes-matching benches provides an ideal spot for an urban picnic. There are two garden boxes on the south-facing side, one for vegetables and the other for herbs and flowers, a tool shed and small patio table with chairs between them. It's mild this evening, overcast though there's currently a break in the misty grey drizzle that's been coming down on and off all day. The rooftop is still wet, slick and puddly. It must not have stopped raining /long/ ago -- there's still a sheen of water gathered in gleaming droplets along the surface of Dusk's wings. It makes their colourful expanse seem even brighter, the red paisley pattern glimmering over the metallic gold backdrop, his gilded gold talons shining. He is dressed in boots, threadbare old brown corduroys, no shirt, wings draped against his back like a cape where he leans against the wet railing. There's a cigarette half-spent between his lips, his cellphone held in one hand, thumb swiping quickly at his screen to type out a text. Steve strolls out onto the roof, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans. His shield, strapped to his back, has returned to its traditional red, white and blue. Seeing Dusk occupied, he does not speak at once, but offers a smile and a wave in greeting as he comes up to lean against the railing. Dusk doesn't look up from his phone at first, but a soft purr of growl rumbles in his chest at Steve's arrival. One wing stretches out when Steve joins him at the railing -- its inside is dry, at least, curling around the other man in a warm squeeze and then pulling back. He finishes his text, slipping his phone into his pocket and exhaling a long stream of grey. Steve shoulders tense slightly under Dusk's wing, but he leans into the embrace all the same. "{How are you doing?} His eyes search the courtyard and the streets beyond the Commons' grounds, then return to the other man. Dusk shakes his head, wing folding back in tightly at his back. "{Relieved. I don't know. Or maybe I just feel like I should be.}" His teeth bare in a sharp crooked smile. "{Maybe too wound up to know how to feel. How are you?}" Steve gives a very small nod, the movement barely visible. "{Something like that, I think.}" He looks further out over the gray, damp city. "{More on my mind than I can work off in the gym. Been having a lot of those days.}" Dusk takes another puff of his cigarette; the sharp exhaled laughter that follows sends twin streams of grey from his nostrils. "{Clearly, you need to branch out. Hit newer and more exciting things.}" "{Probably.}" Steve grins despite his less-than-shining mood. "{A lot of new and exciting in this world, but I try to be pretty careful about what I hit. I'm hell on punching bags.}" He gives Dusk a sidelong glance. "{And most sparring partners.}" The corner of Dusk's mouth hooks up, his head turning sideways to look over at Steve. His brows lift, elbow resting on the railing. "{Most.}" "Shane," is Steve's explanation to Dusk's not-question. "{But I'm sure there are plenty of people, now, who can walk away from a fight with me even if I didn't pull my punches.}" He blushes slightly. "{Probably plenty I couldn't even /hit./ I wasn't trying to...}" His eyes narrow as he searches for the word. Finally shakes his head. "..brag." "{The pups are something /else/, when they move,}" Dusk says with a wider grin and a quiet note of admiration. His wings ripple in a small chuckle, beads of water shivering down off them. "{Couldn't even hit? Man, some day you gotta try fighting Flicker. Or Ion. Like trying to fight -- well. A goddamn storm.}" He stubs his cigarette out against the railing, turns aside to flick it towards a trashcan in the corner. "{Hive you couldn't hit in a whole different sort of way. Less satisfying, though.}" He's straightening, now, with a roll of shoulders, a sweep of dark eyes over Steve. "{You got frustration to burn?}" "{I knew they were quick, but not know they were so strong, and /tough./}" Steve's grin answers Dusk's -- though a bit less sharply. "{I already tried to fight Ion. Because of sickness. Pretty painful.}" He says this pretty lightly, though. He also straightens to his full height. "{I got plenty. You offering?}" Dusk stretches his wings, shaking the rest of the water off of their downy fuzz. He paces a few steps away from the railing, a lively amusement driving some of the previous tired look from his face. "{Oh, I have plenty to burn, too. Not gonna pull your punches, are you?}" Steve rolls one shoulder, then the other, shaking his limbs as he makes his way toward the center of the open ground. "{Not if you can take them.}" He pulls the shield from his back and tosses it gently aside -- it hits the concrete with a quiet scuff, as though it were but a plastic frisbee. "{I don't know how strong you really are, but I think I can handle it.}" He settles his weight down and raises his fists. "{Please, have at.}" "{Guess you're about to find out. And I can take them.}" Dusk follows Steve forward towards the center of the space. His shoulders roll, pulling his wings higher up above him to spike in sharp silhouette overhead with the shift of muscle. He nods when Steve invites him to begin -- -- and his weight /doesn't/ settle; there's barely any transition time at all, just a snap/crack/ of wind, a sudden outstretched blind of red and gold as enormous wings curl out and around where Steve stands. Dusk's talons are hooked inwards, his wings pincering in as well to yank in towards the other man. His weight has continued forward through this, body angling to the side once his foot has planted and his elbow coming up and out in a hard-quick jab. Steve /probably/ did not expect this kind of attack, and yet he does not look particularly alarmed by the prodigious reach of Dusk's wings. He pivots on one foot and drops his center even lower, though the talons of the right wing still manage to catch his arm and draw blood. Lurching forward, toward Dusk, he /falls/ -- only narrow avoiding the elbow -- and skids on his left side beneath a wing. He comes up onto a crouch on Dusk's left flank and aims a palm-heel strike to the back of Dusk's knee even as he rises. As Steve rises, Dusk falls, born abruptly down by the strike at the back of his knee. A rough growl catches in his chest, his leg folding outward. The hard thunk as his knee hits ground is met together with a clickscrape of talons, his wing bracing behind him. The other wing comes down, too -- /its/ talons, though, are sweeping in in quick scoop up and under Steve's legs. His fist slams back, knuckles thudding low towards Steve's side just before he levers himself back to his feet. Unable to sidestep the wing, Steve leaps up -- his standing jump carrying him twice as high as that of even the most athletic humans -- and kicks at Dusk's side. He does not make any /particular/ effort to dodge or block the blow from his opponents' knuckles, though, counting instead on his kick pushing him far enough out of the way that the strike will not land full-force. His left arm is bleeding quite spectacularly by now, but the wound appears superficial enough. A harsh growl rumbles in Dusk's throat as Steve's kick connects with his side, but for all the solid force of it -- mitigated at least /somewhat/ by his own strike landing -- he only skids back slightly, teeth clenching hard. His fingers have uncurled, motion continuing up to follow after Steve's kick -- grabbing for the leg that has just connected with him to yank sharply back down. From the other side one wing is slamming in, long wingspar aimed up hard towards the small of Steve's back. Steve clearly expected to knock Dusk back further than he did, and his leg gets snagged and pulled back down. He clenches his teeth and snaps a scissor kick at the arm that grabbed him. Whether the kick connects or not, it serves to rotate his body while he is still airborne. When he lands he continues the momentum through another half-turn, blocking the wing that had been aimed at his back -- or, failing that, at least taking the hit against his flank -- and throwing a punch at Dusk's solar plexus. Dusk's teeth bare, a fierce -- grimace? /grin/? -- spreading across his face as his arm snaps back away from the kick, shoulder turning to angle his body to the side. It's enough to change the target of Steve's punch but not enough to avoid it; his whole /body/ skids back, slamming down onto the roof and sheering across its slick surface. His wings pull in tight, and he slips -- straight /off/, under the guardrail, over the edge of the rooftop. There's a snap, a flutter; it isn't long before he's launching back over the roof, high up into the air to wheel back down for -- somewhere on Steve's other side, a wing slicing sharply downwards to whack one long hard bone towards his ribs. Steve gathers himself the moment it becomes obvious Dusk isn't arresting his motion toward the edge of the roof. He sinks back into a ready stance, though not as low as before -- knees only slightly bent, most of his weight on his trailing foot. His head raises at Dusk's ascent, but not all the way. Though he must have known something like it was coming, his pale blue eyes still go a little wide when his opponent dives down toward him. He pivots rapidly and slides his new trailing foot way back, bracing himself to /catch/ Dusk's wing. For all his strength, the attack slams home hard, knocking the breath out of him and sliding him back several feet. He shifts his weight to turn into Dusk's center of mass, still holding onto the wing and seeking to throw the other man to the floor. Dusk's fingers uncurl, talons flexing to try and wrap long fingers in around Steve when the other man grabs at his wing. Already in mid-dive, he just tucks his head and shoulder when Steve throws him, following through with the momentum he was already building to turn the throw into a roll. His other wing flings outward, long fingerbone sweeping hard towards Steve's leg as his the first wing releases in a hard /shove/. He is springing back to his feet -- and then some, wings unfurling to take to the air again. Dusk's talons sink into Steve's side and back, but only for a flash -- then the two men are spinning apart, their respective momentums not yet spent. Dusk's wing catches Steve in the side of his trailing leg. He staggers, then simply folds that knee to drop down to the ground, breathing hard. When he rises this time to follow Dusk's flight path with his eyes, he rises just a little sluggishly. This time as Steve is rising Dusk is dropping. Not sluggishly. He doesn't aim behind Steve, this time, booted feet aimed towards the other man's chest. The sharp inward clap of his wings towards Steve -- is hard, certainly, sharp and cracking -- though only incidental, wings continuing to beat after. He doesn't attempt to land, moreso aiming to push back /off/ and into the air. Steve takes a quick step back as Dusk comes at him again, then another just before the not-quite-dropkick connects -- still not enough retreat to keep the blow from landing hard enough to takes his breath. One of his arms claps down on top of Dusk's right leg, the other claps under his left. He doesn't flinch when the wings snap in around him -- the membranes of those wings come away redder than they were before -- but spins Dusk even as he pulls away again to spoil his liftoff. He takes yet another step back. Turn. Kicks off of the railing and launches /himself/ up and toward Dusk, a fairly desperate bid to tackle him. Dusk tucks his wings in when he is spun, flaring them back out wide to stabilize himself once Steve lets go. His breath whooshes out, a quick huff that comes with a jolting backwards rock of his flight path when Steve collides with him in midair. He growls, low, and his wings beat harder -- compensating for the sudden swaying drop to pull /both/ of them up. And up. And up. And up. The rooftop grows smaller beneath them. The Commons -- and then the neighborhood -- spreads out in misty grey view below. Dusk tips a fierce sharp grin in towards his passenger. "{Your move.}" Steve sucks in a sharp breath when they start /gaining/ altitude instead of losing it. His powerful arms lock around Dusk tighter. He turns to look down at the city shrinking below them. His head thumps down gently on Dusk's shoulder, and his chest heaves with laughter as one of his hands taps his opponent's back. "{Great fight,}" he says, picking his head back up and mirroring Dusk's grin. "{Great view, too.}"