(no subject)
Endorphins run high after a fight. Her blood sings along with the whistling of the wind through the canyons of steel and stone.
Swinging through the night air, her knuckles pleasantly sore, a faint stinging in her ribs from a lucky punch, she can almost understand poetry, the temptation to string together beautiful words, the better to describe the sense of serenity and peace she can only find in the most unique of places.
It shoudl disturb her, she knows this. Normal girls, whatever those are, don't do what she's doing. A normal girl her age would be tucked away safely in bed, thoughts filling her head of her boyfriend, or girlfriend, wondering what new movie they'd be going to not-watch while they explored each other physically in the back row. Normal wants and needs for normal boys and girls: Shoes, sex, the things they were told that they couldn't do.
Not Cassandra Cain. She wanted to hear the night fly by her ears, whistling as it passed, in a way not many others could ever hear. She had cause to wonder what it was that made her different, deciding it had to be the influence of that rotten tooth of a man who'd sired her, and then those thoughts were gone again, borne away on the wind by a laugh as her stomach dropped out, and she dove thirty feet before snagging a grotesque's outstretched concrete wing with her jump-line, and swinging just above the lightpoles along this street rushing by below.
Swinging through the night air, her knuckles pleasantly sore, a faint stinging in her ribs from a lucky punch, she can almost understand poetry, the temptation to string together beautiful words, the better to describe the sense of serenity and peace she can only find in the most unique of places.
It shoudl disturb her, she knows this. Normal girls, whatever those are, don't do what she's doing. A normal girl her age would be tucked away safely in bed, thoughts filling her head of her boyfriend, or girlfriend, wondering what new movie they'd be going to not-watch while they explored each other physically in the back row. Normal wants and needs for normal boys and girls: Shoes, sex, the things they were told that they couldn't do.
Not Cassandra Cain. She wanted to hear the night fly by her ears, whistling as it passed, in a way not many others could ever hear. She had cause to wonder what it was that made her different, deciding it had to be the influence of that rotten tooth of a man who'd sired her, and then those thoughts were gone again, borne away on the wind by a laugh as her stomach dropped out, and she dove thirty feet before snagging a grotesque's outstretched concrete wing with her jump-line, and swinging just above the lightpoles along this street rushing by below.