(no subject)
"You again?"
The hood reached into his coat, a little desperation sweat flying from his ratty blonde hair.
"Uh-uhn," she grunted, flicking her wrist, sending a shuriken flying, pinning his jacket to the brick behind him. The gun clattered to the ground near his feet. He looked down, his eyes widening in terror when he looked back up at her.
"C'mon, no. I was just kiddin', honest. I wouldn't shoot nobody..."
She advanced slowly. This fear thing was a handier weapon than any strike she'd been trained in. Ten feet left to close between them, and he was already beaten. His shoulders tensed, his knees bent, feet pointed slightly south. And, yes, there he went, running. Again.
Cassandra allowed herself a slight smile behind the cowl. Tim had been right. If you just threw enough of a scare into them, they ran you right back to someplace they thought might be safe, and you had them on every little thing. She fired her grapnel, the hook catching on the top edge of a fire escape. She reeled herself up, keeping an eye on his fleeing form in the dark, marking every pool of light he passed through, his shoes pelting off the pavement as he hung a hard turn onto Dixon Street.
He'd lead her back to his hideout soon, and then she'd pounce.
The hood reached into his coat, a little desperation sweat flying from his ratty blonde hair.
"Uh-uhn," she grunted, flicking her wrist, sending a shuriken flying, pinning his jacket to the brick behind him. The gun clattered to the ground near his feet. He looked down, his eyes widening in terror when he looked back up at her.
"C'mon, no. I was just kiddin', honest. I wouldn't shoot nobody..."
She advanced slowly. This fear thing was a handier weapon than any strike she'd been trained in. Ten feet left to close between them, and he was already beaten. His shoulders tensed, his knees bent, feet pointed slightly south. And, yes, there he went, running. Again.
Cassandra allowed herself a slight smile behind the cowl. Tim had been right. If you just threw enough of a scare into them, they ran you right back to someplace they thought might be safe, and you had them on every little thing. She fired her grapnel, the hook catching on the top edge of a fire escape. She reeled herself up, keeping an eye on his fleeing form in the dark, marking every pool of light he passed through, his shoes pelting off the pavement as he hung a hard turn onto Dixon Street.
He'd lead her back to his hideout soon, and then she'd pounce.