Altitude

To say that it was not cold outside would be a lie, honestly. According to some. It was a relatively warm autumn night in the city; various coloured leafs accompanied the wind in its eternal travel as it almost unnoticeably slid through the air. The empty sight outside was a rather strange one, not frequently did it happen that the streets were truly lacking humans, so to speak. A few dogs barked, nonetheless, other than that not many sounds could be heard. Sweet and gentle night had already fallen since long. Soft footsteps, barely audible, resonated over the lifeless plaza. It was dark, of course, but that did not bother the person. The slender figure of a woman was carefully accentuated in the soft moonlight that tenderly shone upon her. A tired sigh passed her lips after her head had quickly moved; glancing left and right to verify another time that there were no witnesses. That was something she absolutely could not afford. It would be difficult, as she realized all too well. Yet, there was no room for mistakes. Not this time. The masque made it impossible to read any emotions her face might have been showing. Quietly, she hopped over the few stairs that lead her way to the vast building. Once the female reached the front, she halted and nonchalantly gazed up. It was an older construction, marked by expensive looking windows and decorations on the walls. The large oaken doors were also rather intimidating, various kinds of stories were carved in the wood. She cracked her neck, preparing her body. Quick was the intake of breath, before she carefully sank down, the movement was not that different from how a knight would kneel to his lord. Time trickled further as she sat there, calculating. Then the woman suddenly jumped up, stretching out as far as she could. It certainly would be a strange sight, should one have seen these actions. Hands expertly got a hold on the rim of the large expensive windows of the imposing building. With some force she slowly pulled herself up, feet carefully seeking a solid place. Wind gently caressed her wild dark curls. There she tensed and waited, wary of her surroundings. She gritted her teeth and slowly advanced higher, fingers desperately searching every brim or hole in the heavy stone walls.

Just down the street a few houses or so, a bit of rather sorrowful business had just been concluded. The sole individual remaining from a rather old and strained friendship stepped heavily out of the door, slowly swinging the loose wooden thing closed as he swung closed also the cover on this chapter of his life. It had been too long. He had been too late. What he had come for, he left where it belonged. His black glove hung on the doorknob for a moment or so before he let his arm drop to his side, lethargically. Sadness hung over his shoulders like a heavy mantle indeed, weighing them down. The man was not often given to let his ridged posture fail, but on those brief occasions when his capable shoulders could no longer bear the world, he did what he did now. They curled in towards his chest, as though intent on folding him clean out of existence.

Had he been in a better mood, he might have looked up at the sky and looked for the warmth in the stars shining down from the blackness above, but he was in no such good mood. Had he been a more devout man, he may have looked towards heaven for solace, but he had no taste for God at this moment. Had he even been willing to show his emotion, he might have sobbed into the night, but he would keep those things to himself. Instead, he turned the face, obscured by the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, to the ground. Hugging himself against... well, what was it? Surely not the cold. Perhaps the emotions showed more than he thought, but there was no one around to see them, no one that cared. So it was that he turned to the road, and, scrutinizing the cobbled walk below, strode down the road at a slow pace. His boots rapped out their staccato beat with each footstep, echoing in the empty space, echoing around him, a cold sound, a harsh sound...

The figure on the wall immediately tensed as the harsh cold sounds of boots hitting the ground reached her ears. “Damn it”, she quickly whispered aggravated, a sudden heath spreading itself on her face at this new stress. She pushed her body frantically against the freezing stone wall. The iciness gradually seeped into her body as she sat there unmoving, stiffening her muscles. Not good. The woman frantically tried to glance and estimate the distance between herself and this undesired possible witness. Nothing suspicious jumped to her attention, she bit her lower lip in frustration. She had to try, this had to work. Only one option, in that case. As silent as she could, the female slowly climbed higher, trying her best not to make any sounds. A few pieces of the wall, that had crumbled, fell on the small street. At this point she could only hope that stranger hadn’t heard it, or that if that human had, she would be gone already when the person would undoubtedly look for any disturbances. The red haired one realized she was more or less screaming for attention, however, one could only trust that at this point in the night, not many would notice what happened ‘on’ the houses. A smile lit up her face as she was reaching higher and higher. Almost there…

He wouldn't have turned if he hadn't heard the sound on the otherwise empty street. The sound at any other time wouldn't have disturbed him from a deep revelry. But at that moment in time, it caused him to look up. His shaded glance cast about sharply. it had probably just been some cat, but it had managed to startle him for a moment, to bring him up from the depths. Scathingly, his eyes raked across the house. Nothing but shadows cast by the light of celestial bodies and the warmer shining of the streetlights shone across the house above. Black eyelashes came closer together, as if weaving a cage around his sight. His nostrils flared slightly, the brief moment of alertness was gone and now the emotions were coming back. He had escaped for but a moment. But then there the sound was again, and again it chased away the hurt for a moment more.

He looked up now, more closely. For he was sure that it was no feline that had disturbed him from his walk. He took a step closer to the house to gaze up. Perhaps someone inside had needed a breath of air and had been playing with the windows? But no, what he had heard was the rasp of stone upon leather, and there weren't too many sorts that went about climbing upon houses at night. Generally, the black clad fellow would have let it go, but tonight any distraction was welcome sanctuary compared to the confines of loneliness. He made then to step up towards the door of the building.

All of her senses were screaming at her not to move, to simply remain in that uncomfortable position and wait until the stranger, a man, she noticed, left off and continued to do whatever it was that he was expected to do. He obviously refused to disappear, to her great irritation. Still, she had remained silent as a statue, or tried to somehow mingle with the environment. Not that she succeeded. Her head rested tiredly against the harsh icy stone and decorations of the home, a bit unhandy with the masque, but she did manage to do that. Her arms were starting to feel completely numb and cramped from the straining effort it took to even do as much as merely keep herself against the wall. ‘Go away, go away, go away, go away’, her mind quickly repeated these words as a mantra. She shut her eyes, although that action could not be seen due to the expensive looking masque. It was incredibly distressing, how she leisurely felt her fingertips slipping off the gap they had found. More and more made an urgent panic itself master over her being. The woman dared to quickly gaze down again. He was just standing there, at the front. She didn’t like it in the least. Different kinds of possible scenarios flashed through her mind. On was that she could rapidly climb further and get on the roof, however, she doubted she would get anywhere without falling at the moment. Or she could try to wait as long as her strength permitted with this highly uncomfortable place. Neither of the two did she like. The soft breeze, which she mentally cursed, caused her clothes to rustle a bit; leather creaked, almost happily, as she breathed. She tried to remember why again she chose to wear leather. Everything was completely doomed to fail. And she knew it. Already, the woman quickly glanced down again, to see where exactly she would land. Perhaps right on the man, with some luck he’d be dead. A nearly inaudible snicker passed her lips. Too late did she realize her grave mistake, a slight gasp followed on the little sound; the surprise caused her to just about completely lose any form of grip on the stone. It seemed to happen in slow-motion, how she slowly started to slide down..

He heard the combinations of noise, the tumult as it were, and realized where their succession was leading. It had entered his head a moment before to just leave it all be and walk away, but now he was irrevocably a part of this thing. The brim of his hat tipped far back and he zeroed in on the form he had seen in the darkness. The motion made her even more evident than before. She was going to fall, fact. The fall would not do her body any light damage, fact. He could stop that from happening, fact. She wouldn't tell anybody, probability. It was a fair enough equation, and he never really HAD to come back around here anyway. He rolled his eyes at himself and sighed. Growing a heart was painful and tiring sometimes.

A swish of his coat and a surge of wind, or something very like it. It was huge and swooping, and the arms that enclosed the woman were cold and hard and fiercely strong. But they did not carry her off into the night sky, but only as far as the roof, where they set her down with surprising gentility. Another black flurry, a sound not unlike leather wings flapping in the night he was standing a few meters away from her, facing away, silhouetted against the moonlight. All those powers gave way for little pleasures, like astounding entrances, and when a person has lived for as long as this man, they need a little flair in their lives. He didn't speak, but just slightly turned to glance over his shoulder at her. He had only caught the briefest glance on the way up, and he had made a point of not looking directly at her before that. With the flair, one might also like a little surprise, every now and again. A masque and all that leather, he had found someone with a turn of the theatrical, how pleasant. Perhaps tonight would not be all misery of the past. in fact, it had a definite chance at being quite enjoyable all of a sudden.

The woman simply remained unmoving as they both stood here. Honestly, she had felt like screaming as loud as her voice permitted when she felt a pair of arms embracing her during her fall. Perhaps it was after all a good thing that he had been there. Although, she immediately thought further, if he hadn’t been there in the first place it wouldn’t have been necessary to even do such a thing. The female stood there a little tensed, and her quick silent breathing might have indicated some of the stress and pressure she was currently experiencing. However, and for this she was utterly glad, the masque made sure no expression could possibly be seen. The black eyes that the hand-crafted piece of art naturally had stared motionless at the other person, carefully calculating the next options. He did look a bit strange, one would think. But who was she to judge people on appearance? The thought caused a small genuine chuckle to fill the air. She deeply breathed in and out, relaxing a bit more. Her clothing rustled almost unnoticeably in the soft breeze that still gently flew through the air. She waited an instance, “Now, now”, she advanced carefully a bit closer to the stranger, the naturally rather deep sound of her female voice tinged with what some would call a slight teasing, “tell me, who is this person that so kindly rescued me from an indubitably horrendous fall on those harsh stones?” The irony of the situation triggered a seemingly permanent curling up of her lips. The fox masque tilted a bit sideways as she awaited an answer, should there come one in the first place. It was a little frustrating, this hold-up, nonetheless, she realized she absolutely should not be bothered or distracted from her set goal. She wouldn’t allow such an interruption.

A smile twitched at the edges of the thin, red lips. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing, but playing around with some thief dressed up like some gypsy woman was perhaps a far more amusing occupation than the cup of tea and remorses that would otherwise await him back where he belonged. So, he decided to play. In his own manor, picked up somewhere during the years, or perhaps lent to him by the darkness around, he turned. The shadows cast about him, hiding only enough of his features to cause an ominous appearance, but he did not pause for a pose, but instead walked forcefully towards the woman. He expected a flinch or something of the kind, but the rattling notion to come only a moment after He had walked right through her. As though one or the other of them wasn't really there at all, the man, his coat and all, passed right through the woman's body.

It was a swirling, cold sort of thing with the wind gusting about suddenly, as if it might only have been a scrap of some ragged nightmare flitting past her. Several steps past her and he stopped again, looking out at the street below. No voice was given to the words he felt no desire to speak, no sound came from him except that of his brief movement and the gentle rustle of his coat in the small breeze that, for all intents, he might have caused himself. The fingers of his left hand made a sort of tapping motion, as though he were playing some sort of instrument. Each finger in turn from the smallest to the index brushed the tip of his thumb and began again. Black eyes only stared down, while that red mouth smiled, ever so slightly. How mightn't the little woman react to a ghost's touch?

Her stance had remained exactly the same as before. She unhurriedly turned towards the man; even the fox masque seemed to question his actions. Before she could stop it, a clear, joyful laugh filled the chilly inky night. It was nearly comparable to a devil laughing, perhaps at a poor tortured soul, but then in a much happier way. The female threw back her head, causing her long curly hair to freely move through the air. Her canines, now perceptible, seemed to somehow have been shaped in a slightly more pronounced and pointy way than one would see ‘normally’, it was possibly only slightly so, but the difference stayed there nonetheless. Indeed, the laughter banned away the general tension that seemed to wander around them. After a while, it died down as a little light that is gently dimmed to darkness.

She rapidly walked to him, the controlled movements were both quick and gracious. Right next to the other, the female stopped and bended a bit forwards, merely to shamelessly take a glance at his face. “Ah, the irony…” The female’s voice still contained the light twinge that her laughter had brought. Another mischievous sounding chuckle passed her lips. “What are you then? A ghost, a simple spawn of my mind or a demon?” Her figure got rigid again; proud was her posture as she gazed over the houses, enjoying the tranquil peace this moment seemed to create.

He stood there. The beat that his fingers were steadily drumming out changed and began tamping out what might have been a sort of tune, not that it was loud enough to hear. A sound in his throat, like something caught there and being coughed at, it could have been some sort of abbreviated chuckle or a growl or maybe he was just hungry. And the enigmatic smile didn't allow any indications to slip out. "Spawn of my mind," and now it really was a chuckle, without anything censored from it. His head shook ever so slightly, his long and dark hair waving to and fro with the motion, like water in a pitch black cave, flowing over ancient rocks, where no light shone.

The dark form crouched down, shrinking the shadow that was the man, only to spring back up again as if he really did have springs hidden somewhere in his anatomy or beneath all his black clothing. If it was possible that a mountain or a shadow could appear restless, then this man did now. Both his hands clenched and unclenched. He turned a quick pace, spun back to where he had been and then sat down full on the roof, just beside the woman. Flopping back, he gazed up at the sky. "Spawn of my mind," he repeated to himself, absentmindedly. His eyes stared into the abyss of the sky, unfocused. "What is your mind spawning?" he hadn't looked himself. He didn't want to know, it didn't matter, and moreover, he wanted her to tell him if anyone did, in the natural way.

She unconsciously scratched her throat, the long nails drawing lengthy red lines on the pale skin. “Answering a question with another question, eh.” It seemed to amuse her. For a fact, everything so far seemed to have done that, amusing her. As if it all was one big play, entertaining the watchers. “What is it spawning, you ask”, the female chuckled, to herself, “it is firstly not about ‘what’, simply that the possibility exists, as I know all too well and has happened before.” A hand played with a bit of the fabric of her blouse. “If you want to know ‘what’, there is merely the limitation of my own mind on that matter.” Silence now filled the air. The masque tilted a bit sideways after a while, his way. “However, you didn’t answer it, my inquiry.” The sound of her voice almost appeared to be accusing the stranger. Although the woman might have made up her own mind about it already, she was eager to hear what he answered. If he did in the first place. It wasn’t as if she really cared about it. Or perhaps… No, she was only curious. That was all there was to it.

"I think I'm happy that you're not dead," he spoke into space, not really directing the comment at anybody, "That is assuming the fall would have killed you." The head turned then, the hat had fallen off and his hair was splayed out about his head, like a shadowy pool. "You would have died, wouldn't you?" A small frown furrowed his brow, a questioning sort of expression. Yet, it seemed that even the frown put the question into a rhetoric sense. He never really did expect an answer, he just unfocused his gaze and spoke again, "I wouldn't have." He did not sound happy about that, but then, he didn't exactly sound sad or angry either... He sounded matter of fact, harshly and brutally. "That work?" he focused on the mask again as he propped himself up on his side, resting his head on his hand.

The woman inaudibly sighed, slowly standing up. She slightly embraced herself, stroking her arms to feel less numb. It was a chilly night after all. The mischievous looking masque silently gazed down at the man, simply ignoring the previously spoken words. “I should leave”, she stated, her voice suddenly sounding low and surprisingly dispassionate. Her body graciously turned around, facing the other side. This had consumed too much time already. A hand brushed away some wandering strands of dark red hair. “Thank you for this little talk”, her head moved a bit to the right as she spoke to the one behind her, “however, I must not forget my objective.” He was asking too many questions, speaking too much. Not good. Perhaps even dangerous, in this case. Her form tensed a bit; the female felt, somewhere inside her was the dreadful sensation, that the possibility of everything failing because of a thing, as banal as a mere conversation was very real. “No. It won’t”, the red haired one quietly murmured to herself, not exactly conscious of the fact that she was doing that, “it won’t and can’t do that.”

"Oh, it could, and it would, but what if it didn't?" He was talking loud enough for her to hear, although definitely not at her. He had flopped onto his back again. Stars reflected in the depths of his eyes, filling them with a cold sort of fire, a sparkle. He hummed a little something that sounded not unlike a sort of jig. That smile on his all-too-red lips had grown wider in that moment of staring. And then, he was on his feet. he watched her back for a moment and put on a false look of indignation. But it dissipated before he could say anything, falling first into a small smirk and then a smile which slowly faded. What, really, was the purpose of all this? Did it need a purpose? He didn't have time for this, but then, what was there time for? What would torturing this woman with his presence, where it wasn't wanted bring him? Yet, her apparent mission recalled to him a memory of his own, a memory of business. Mayhap there was purpose here.

The smile crept back onto his face, revealing, ever so slightly, the pointed tips of his teeth which glinted in the moonlight. He gently reached down to pick up his hat and restore it to its place upon the crown of his head. Standing full again, he nodded his head in an abbreviated bow. "Mayhap we shall be given the chance to meet again then, Miss," his smooth, bleakly melodic voice spun like ribbons of a spider's silk through the air, "It shouldn't be too hard, considering that I am just the 'Spawn of Your Mind'." To anyone who had looked, it would be as though a man had never really been there in the first place, perhaps a cloud of mist, or a trick of the shadows. Maybe he really was just a tad of lunacy that had clawed its way out of her head after all.

“…I wonder”, the woman suddenly started. Some strange sort of humor seemed to keep itself hidden in the sound of her voice. She licked her lips, a smile gracing her features. “Oh, great spawn of my mind, could you claw your way back into this desperate psyche that happens to be mine, dig through these old memories of forgotten times and tell me if the book I seek indeed was hidden away here in this home or truly burned to ashes in the end?” The female turned around again, facing the other as she was making this last attempt after so many other tries. If it wouldn't work out this time, it never would. She was certain of that. Every action, every move that her body made was absolutely graceful. The leather silently creaked further as she curiously advanced a bit closer to the man. A gentle breeze tenderly caressed her long hair.

"A book," The sound came from behind her now, which wasn't altogether odd, since the man was also behind her. He was sitting on the edge of some banister that ran around a fancy protrusion from the roof. One leg dangled off the edge. His back supported by a rise in the banister. "I have a fondness for books," his voice slid easily into a chummy sort of tone. He turned his head to look at her. There was a frightening sort of tilt to his head and the gleam in his eyes was not altogether pleasant. "But you should think twice about having me pry about inside your brain," even the light from the moon seemed to dim, the street lamps' glow faded and the world cast out a sort of washed appearance. Everything was indistinct and flowing. And then, like a candle being blown out, it all snapped back to normal, and he was smiling again. "So why don't you describe this book of yours?" it was almost like a child, playing some sort of game, asking questions to which he already knew the answers, leading his playmate in circles around the goal.

A bright smile pulled at the corners of her lips for she had expected that particular answer. The woman gazed at the man with the ever-mischievous face of the fox. “This book”, she ponderingly began, scratching her throat as she thought, “I suspect you surely must have heard about Reynard, seeing as you claimed to have this particular liking for books.” She bowed closer to him, speaking more carefully and warily as if there was a dear secret being told; perhaps that would not be so unrelated to the actual truth, “however, that is not what I seek.” Her stance became rigid again. A small chuckle filled the air, the female slowly walked around, thinking. It almost looked like a lion stalking its pray. She closely watched the other. “No”, the red haired one almost whispered, “I search what some would call the very first appearance of Reynard. The Ysengrimus, written centuries ago by magister Nivardus”

Peals of laughter rang out, quite a bit too loudly for the business that they were engaged in at the moment. Yet, it seemed, he had no idea of curtailing the noise. His laugh had an odd, deep note to it, and was thoroughly unsettling while being at the same time incredibly infectious. He actually laughed himself clear off the banister, thudding onto the roof, more noise. Slowly, still shaking with silent mirth, he dragged himself off the ground. "Is it Hermeline then?" it was obvious that he was having trouble keeping his voice straight enough to say that much before he broke out laughing once more. "Or are you Reynard?" and the fit was gone all at once, retired into a frightful sort of smile, "And I your wolf? Your Ysengrimus, as it were?" His voice was far too smooth now, smooth like the edge of a Barber's razor as it slowly cut around the delicate skin of a man's throat. The claw-like nails on the tips of his fingers became apparent of a sudden, almost gleaming against the black of his clothing. "I like a good story," he said, sitting down again, and as he did, the menace faded from him again, "Why that book?"

The woman sweetly smiled at the other, amused by the sudden burst of laughter that had died down by now. “I am in dire need of Reynard’s help”, she seriously answered, though a small smirk couldn’t resist to make its appearance, “A while ago…” Her voice quieted, uncertain if she should continue to speak or not about those past events; black eyes of the masque intensely stared at the man, calculating. “Perhaps you are indeed Ysengrimus”, she pondered warily, “if that is the case, I must admit that we should part immediately and forget everything.” A deep sigh left her form. It slightly shook, the hand that reached for an instance behind her head, touching the ties that made sure that the masque stayed where it should be. It wouldn’t take a lot, untying it... How it could be such an utter bother, at times. Well, at times, she honestly started to hate it. And now this. The female lowered herself to the ground, though the word ‘dropping’ would also be quite adequate here, and almost desperately held her head between her hands. Of course, minding the masque. It endlessly frustrated her. “I really need this epos”, she whispered from her position on the ground, the normally rather deep and proud sound of her voice now toned down to a weak and more or less broken variation. “I honestly don’t care if you are Ysen… That or anything and anyone else. I can’t go further without it.” Her head tilted up, gazing up at him as she continued, “Please…” She hated it. “I’d do anything for the book.”

He leaned forward, a look of intensity could be said to have taken control over his face, but the truth was that it had really spread in an instant throughout his entire body. He scrutinized the masque, the way her hands played around it. When she threw herself down like she did, he flinched. His nostrils narrowed, as if with a sharp intake of breath. Deep, black eyes were filled with an uncanny sort of fire, even as they too drew closed ever so slightly, as if to restrict the sudden flow of sight that they took in even now. The game was over, perhaps she had never really been playing. This was, he admitted to himself, far more interesting than simply reading her. It was a hard admission. The claw-like hands clenched and unclenched, and his jaw worked for a moment, while the muscles in his face fought a war against one another.

With a sudden vehemence, he launched himself forward. The effect was not unlike seeing some great beast of the sea breaching the surface of the waves, or watching a bird take flight. The flare of his coat could have been great leathery wings. He bent down beside her, holding out his arm. "Come. I'll not have a lady on her knees, not before me," his voice was choked and rougher than it had been. The world didn't darken this time, though his countenance did. His hand held in the air, an icy-pale thing, as if etched out of marble. It could have been a claw, or the welcome hand of a gentleman, either way, it meant to pull her off the ground.

She stared at the inviting hand in front of her. It was strange, how they seemed so similar and different to her own at the same time. Doubt overtook her for an instance, making everything seem so unimportant, so terribly overrated. Her jaw clenched, determined, she then slowly, not without a slight hesitation, reached out and carefully laid her much smaller hand in his. A slight surge of strength lifted her up, off the cold ground. The woman gazed down, not daring to look straight at the man who suddenly appeared to be taller, somehow. To her, that is. She refused to speak. Perhaps she simply did not have the courage to utter anything after the more or less distressed plead on her part. No… The woman simply stood there. Not necessarily in a sad way, not in the least. It would be more correct to assume that she was merely waiting, waiting for what the future might bring. Or that was maybe what she hoped or expected. It however would be safe to claim the female was tired and completely fed up with the whole situation that had been ongoing for such a long period and thus desired its definite end.

He stood there for a moment, just working through thoughts and emotions. The image of that woman's vulnerable figure before him had been a sort of shattering thing that had shaken him to the cold bones that presumed to be his frame. Had she looked at him, she might have seen a slight play of internals, not on his face, which now remained still and almost passive, but in his eyes, which raged like fire. Slowly, he drew in a laborious sort of breath, as if it pained him to do so, and then let it rattle back out. "Alright," he said, "I'll help." He held up a finger to indicate that she should wait, "But, I shall also take you up on your offer. In return you will do something for me, though not in excess of the service I render to you." His hand dropped to his side.

"What would you have of me?"

The female looked up, nodding slowly in an agreeing gesture. She licked her lips and bowed graciously for a moment as she proudly started to speak. “I am Lavinia”, her voice sounded almost back normal again, except perhaps the deeper meaning that the sound seemed to carry within; a hidden gratefulness that was not apparent, nor audible to the general kind of people, “and I need to possess the manuscript of Ysengrimus, the unaltered version that Nivardus so skillfully wrote down in Latin. That is, if you are able to get it.” The ghost of a smile left a fleeting impression on her lips. Lavinia stepped a bit backwards, as if to observe the other better. “What can I do for you?”

A minute shake of his head was his reply. He walked to the roof's edge and looked down over it. His coat flared out around him. He removed a pair of black gloves and pulled them over his hands. Cinching them , he nonchalantly stepped into space. The sound produced by his clothing as he fell was much louder than it needed to be, like the myriad wings of a host of angels, as they fell. Yet, there was no resulting noise to indicate that he had ever met the ground.

Had anyone been looking on, they would have seen a darkly clad man step out of a house several doors down. He stepped out fast, with a haunted look on his face. He rushed to the house upon which the woman in the masque stood. He hurried up the front walk to the door. His fist landed several times, heavily. A frantic voice called out, intent on waking the occupants of the house, demanding aid. His call rang out down the street.

An eyebrow arched up. The woman bowed, looking down from the roof to watch what exactly the man planned to do. “Do I need to do anything?” She carefully exclaimed to him in a restrained sort of yell, trying not to wake the people in the home beneath her. Her back straightened, head rapidly glanced a few times around; she was growing very nervous by him, to be honest. Many would be awakened this way. If they’d see her… No. The smug looking confident smirk she mostly had appeared on her features again after a while of absence. She never gets caught. And if she did, she’d certainly find a way out.