Chapter Text
Perched up on the edge of a fire-escape railing, her fingers rhythmically tapped against her arm as the two figures below strolled into the agreed meeting spot. The sharp edges of her nails, too freshly cut to have been worn down yet, left small, satisfying white scratches against the dark canvas of her arm. There was no mention, let alone agreement, to the second person’s presence. ‘Be here at noon in three days,’ the woman had said, green eyes studying her critically. ‘I don’t suggest you pass up on it.’ That was it. A chilled draft of wind murmured with well-timed assent. She thought of the red thread wound up in her pocket.
“I don’t see anyone here,” the taller, more scrappy one raised a pierced eyebrow. The sun caught on the gel that held up his mohawk, as well as the various studs and spikes that adorned his jacket.
The woman regarded him with a nearly chiding look which quickly silenced his questioning. Instead, he resorted to idly bouncing his foot against the ground, until some other element of the drab alley caught his interest, leaving just the older woman in the sun-warmed spot by the edge of the alley.
Up on the highest platform, she narrowed her eyes. Forget the offer mentioned those few days prior, what trust would one afford someone who refuses to even announce the company they bring to a secluded conversation? She turned the situation over in her mind. The woman kept a vigilant eye on both openings of the alley, but as time passed and the other man kept wandering around the other side, she seemed to relax partially on that side. Hoisting herself atop the roof of the building, her eyes tracked the man, footsteps muffled by the dust that cushioned the rooftop as she crept forward. The pockets, moderately distended, seemed like an easy grab.
Quick and quiet. Like a rat.
Admittedly, this part of the city was less of a familiar sprawl, moreso a tangle she was learning to untie. Not every nook and cranny was imprinted within her memory yet, but the odds were still stacked against these two; the woman definitely lacked the quick foot of improvisation when it came to finding her way around, proven by the scuffle she had with her on Tuesday. Was that why she brought another person along with her? She frowned slightly, eyes continuously trained on her target. Did he know this area better? The way he walked – a child taking in new surroundings – suggested not. That doubled as a concern as well; most people were predictable with when they’d turn, and which way they’d be facing afterwards. This guy was akin to a wildcard, with there being little guarantee that he’d stay looking the other way long enough. To rub salt into the wound, tinted sunglasses with an orangey hue sat on the bridge of his nose, strong enough where the direction of his eyes were indistinguishable. Still, she ducked into the embrace of deep shadow behind a generator, it’ll be fine.
One foot in front of the other. Focus.
The shaved stubble on his face was visible. Another step. Now the messy stitches on the jacket. Reach into his pocket while his back faces you. And her reflection in the auburn glass.
Too late did she realise that she never let go of whatever her hands had locked around.
The delicate sound of the object scratching against the fabric as it left gave her away. The man spun, his wandering attention now locked onto her.
The cool comfort of metal instinctively filled the palm of her other hand, her focus on darting back to where the layout granted her the upper hand. There was little time to think, with the man already close on her heels.
She darted around the corner of the generator; he vaulted on top of it, blocking both ways around the unit.
Up the fire escape stairs was undoubtedly out of question. She turned to face him, the walls now seemingly closing in as if to squeeze her breath out.
Inhale.
Her eyes flashed to her hand. The dark metal of a pistol greeted her.
Eyes back on the man. He remained poised on the edge of the generator.
Exhale.
A muscle tensed in her jaw. The gun, now aimed at him, served as less of an actual means to murder; she just needed an empty threat to buy her escape.
He raised a brow.
“Go on,” he smiled, amusement seeping into his words.
Weary, she rested her finger against the trigger. He remained the same.
Click.
Laughing, he jumped down from the box. Knife now guarding her stronger hand, the two circled around each other.
He sprung first. A left hook, the angle difficult to parry with her blade. She used the empty pistol to use his momentum against him, hard metal scraping his knuckles. Temporarily displaced from his footing, she sidestepped around to get behind him, the lightless zones trying their best to conceal her as one of their own, but she darted too fast for deceit. Before he could follow, she drove the hilt of her knife down over his kidney; stabbing would’ve been more convenient, but to be on the hit-list of the woman merely a hundred feet away held no foreseeable peace of mind.
Run.
The seconds he spent momentarily grounded weren’t wasted; she grabbed onto the nearby rain gutter, scrambling up to the edge of a windowsill. The nearby platform of the same fire escape stairway she originally descended provided a much needed cover and a quicker way back onto the roof. The slightest sensation of something in contact with her hair got the response of the knife’s vague venture behind her, aiming to ward off whatever might be behind as her feet furiously hit the roof in familiar rhythm.
Her hands caught hold of the edge of a sturdy pipe running down from the roof as she pivoted off the building’s edge, descending just as fast as she came up. She scanned the area, spotting an opening to a gulley between two other closed shops, the cramped architecture of which she appreciated. Turning into the space, her eyes widened in betrayal as the brick wall in front taunted her attempt, unforgiving to the need of a route. A second, much taller shadow emerged next to her. Adrenaline, seemingly transferring to the blade itself, helped slash at her pursuer, the speed of which he kept up with mostly well.
Until a firm grasp clumsily caged her wrist.
“I just wanna talk,” His other hand raised his shades as he offered a crooked smile. “C’mon.”
Choice wasn’t something she was really granted. Stamina depleted from the chase, keeping up with the larger strides was more a giver of annoyance than anything else. The hand on her wrist wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but offered no opportunity to squeeze out of.
“Peridot,” he finally greeted the woman, who still stood in the same spot she had been in for the past half hour.
“You took longer than I thought,” she muttered, running a hand through her light brown hair as the dust resettled around her. Her gaze went to the street rat. “So? Decided yet?”
“I’m not joining,” she spoke, voice dry from unuse.
Another beat of silence passed, before the older woman let out a long sigh, gaze trained on an ant skittering on the expanse of the grown below. “What’s your name?” The ant circled a chipped piece of a peanut, before retreating to a crack in the concrete. A flick of her dark sneaker sent it skittering across the alley, disappearing in the leaves of a small gathering of milkweed.
Her darker eyes travelled from studying the ant to across the alley, settling on an antique shop a street over. A stone pendant sat in the window, teasing the filtered sunlight with split-second moments of a subtle glimmer, crimson and cream streaks invading a plethora of polished, crystalline brown. Her brows furrowed together.
“Tell me his first,” she demanded.