Motor City: A Prologue
I don't know how often I'll update this, but it's been in my head and I wanted to start somewhere. Rockatoo is only a picture at this point, but I've taken the character and ran with it.
Title: Motor City: A Prologue
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Characters: Rockatoo, OC
Summary: In Motor City, city of music and industry, our heroine follows a shade that stole her favorite violin.
Motor City. The air was thick with the sounds of factories and night clubs. Revelers and workers changing shifts and parties. Cars and musical bands alike hammered out a cadence that drove this town as it had for decades. The two figures flying across the cities rooftops, made little to no sound whatsoever.
Rockatoo launched off of the rooftop with ease and sailed with only the slightest flutter from cloak as it stiffened to help her glide to the next rooftop. Her quarry was fast, but the crime fighter whom by day was known as the lounge singer Dianna Deacon always had her man. She had seen him in going through her bands instruments after the show that night and immediately gave chase, pulling on her cowl and cape as she leaped from a fifth story window into the night sky. With no time to formally change her costume, she simply ripped off her split gown at the knee and trusted her cowl hide her identity as it had for years.
As soon as she hit the ground her cape-like wings slackened and she managed a perfect gymnastic roll. She was 8 blocks from where she started now and not getting any closer to street level. That was fine with her, a birds place was in the sky, if this ghost of an individual wanted to challenge her in her city - in her element - then he would rue the day he went round for round with Rockatoo.
“Halt, sugga!” She shouted, loud but smooth. “Give us back that music maker you got there and let’s do this whithout me hav’n to take that bounce outa your step!” The white and yellow clad heroine was in a fighting posture. Fists up with every muscle coiled like a spring.
The thief stopped and it wasn’t ‘till now that she realized just how dark it was up here. Even so, she could make out none of his features. The man-shadow stood a head taller than her and had impossibly broad shoulders. He didn’t seem to be wearing a mask or helmet because she could see the muss of his shoulder length hair, or the silhouette of it anyway. If it weren't for the ease that he had traversed the rooftops getting here, she would think he was a common thug.
“What’s your name, babydoll? Ms. Deacon will want to know who stole her favorite violin.” Rockatoo had dark voice and an accent that said she grew up making the wrong part of town right.
“Why, mon cherre, Ah’m Johnny. And Ah’m the best there eva was.” He said in a deep southern accent with a hint of creole.
The heroin sniffled a gasp. That name was in the history books as belonging to the man who brought the south to its knees decades before the Civil War.
“Johnny’s dead, suggar. You’ve got some moves, I’ll give you that, but you ain’t no Johnny.”
He set the small case down on the rooftop and began to flip the latches. “Ah’ll return it to that sweet belle if you tell meh where Ah can find mah fiddle.”
“Look it up, Rufus, I’m done mess’n ‘round.” She was getting visibly irritated by his impudence. But her instincts told her that the shade had yet to lie. Why couldn’t see him? It was dark but not that dark.
With practiced grace she leaped through the air an intimidating arc to come only inches away from her challenger. Johnny moved with a shadows speed and in an instant had a gilded ivory bow leveled at the startled woman's throat. She realized now that she couldn’t make out any details because there were no details. The bow stood out against it’s wielder with stark contrast, him being composed seemingly of the blackest pitch.
“Oh, cheri...shall we dance?”
Rockatoo deftly ducked to the side and threw a wide punch at what she took to be his kidneys. As if tangoing, the shadow evaded, drawing its bow into the air like a conductors baton and bringing it through the air as if to glide it across her now outstretched arm. She pulled away ducked for a leg sweep, continuing the momentum from her right hook and when that missed she sprung into the air for a spinning roundhouse. Her ripped white-sequin gown all the while glittering with the glow of the city lights and contrasting the utter blackness of her foe.
For his part, Johnny was impressed at the fluidity of the woman’s movements but non-the-less dodged each blow like someone simply performing a dance with their partner. He had been around for a long time and knew better than most that it took two to tango. The athletic woman launched into a series of aerial kicks, her cape spinning with her momentum. Johnny, seeing his moment to strike, sidestepped under a high arcing kick and drug his bow like a sabre across the leg that she was standing on.
The infernally sharp hairs of the bow cut a gash in her thigh as she spun and she stumbled for just a moment, but that was long enough for him to draw another cut on her arm. She felt fire in her arm and leg as villain stepped back and regarded her coolly, waiting to see if she would continue the fight. She couldn’t see his eyes but knew that they were sizing her up. She could use the perceived moment of weakness to launch a counter attack, but without her boots and armored outfit she wasn’t sure if she could take many more of those blows.
“Lost your rythem, mon cherre? The music is just getting started.”
“Baby, you aint seen nuth’n yet.”
The Plumed Avenger launched into another series of blows, but this time chose to take the tips of her split cape in each hand as she launched a flurry of Tai Chi punches. Once, twice, three times the shade tried to draw a cut on her arms and back and failed due to the armored cape. She landed blows on his core and saw him stumble. She couldn’t tell if he was winded or simply aghast at being hit, but she didn’t let the pondering distract her from her goal: beating this insufferable jive turkey into a new outlook on life.
Johnny fell back when a blow landed on his solar plexus and interrupted his movements. The woman was smart, but he tired of this routine and was ready to end it. He jabbed the bow through the air like a fencing foil and, as he expected, she ducked under it going in for a close one two on his ribs. If she had known what he was capable of, she never would have gone into such close quarters.
He dropped the bow and grabbed her in a brutal bear hug. “Song an’ dance is done, cheri. Next we play mah tune...”
“This isn’t over!” She said, desperate now.
“Oh contrair...it has just begun.” Slowly, the shadows form grew tighter around her and she felt him start to seep into her skin.
“This isn’t over!” She shouted again.
Without a word Jonny shrank and faded into the woman who crumbled to the ground. Her mind was on fire as she struggled to maintain dominance. “You will take me to mah fiddle and I will set you free. Those are mah terms,” he said to her in her mind. She struggled there on the rooftop for what seemed like an eternity. “Those are mah terms,” he repeated.
“Fine. I’ll show you you’re stupid fiddle. Then we’re done and you go back to Georgia or whereva!” she repeated admitting defeat.
“It is done then. Ah don like this any more than you. Let’s be on with it.”
The woman stood, finally. Shaky at first, then resolute, she regarded the Motor City skyline with pools of midnight-black eyes that slowly faded back to the rich brown that they’re known for. “This would be interesting, to say the least,” they each thought to themselves, “and the song has just begun.”
Title: Motor City: A Prologue
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Characters: Rockatoo, OC
Summary: In Motor City, city of music and industry, our heroine follows a shade that stole her favorite violin.
Motor City. The air was thick with the sounds of factories and night clubs. Revelers and workers changing shifts and parties. Cars and musical bands alike hammered out a cadence that drove this town as it had for decades. The two figures flying across the cities rooftops, made little to no sound whatsoever.
Rockatoo launched off of the rooftop with ease and sailed with only the slightest flutter from cloak as it stiffened to help her glide to the next rooftop. Her quarry was fast, but the crime fighter whom by day was known as the lounge singer Dianna Deacon always had her man. She had seen him in going through her bands instruments after the show that night and immediately gave chase, pulling on her cowl and cape as she leaped from a fifth story window into the night sky. With no time to formally change her costume, she simply ripped off her split gown at the knee and trusted her cowl hide her identity as it had for years.
As soon as she hit the ground her cape-like wings slackened and she managed a perfect gymnastic roll. She was 8 blocks from where she started now and not getting any closer to street level. That was fine with her, a birds place was in the sky, if this ghost of an individual wanted to challenge her in her city - in her element - then he would rue the day he went round for round with Rockatoo.
“Halt, sugga!” She shouted, loud but smooth. “Give us back that music maker you got there and let’s do this whithout me hav’n to take that bounce outa your step!” The white and yellow clad heroine was in a fighting posture. Fists up with every muscle coiled like a spring.
The thief stopped and it wasn’t ‘till now that she realized just how dark it was up here. Even so, she could make out none of his features. The man-shadow stood a head taller than her and had impossibly broad shoulders. He didn’t seem to be wearing a mask or helmet because she could see the muss of his shoulder length hair, or the silhouette of it anyway. If it weren't for the ease that he had traversed the rooftops getting here, she would think he was a common thug.
“What’s your name, babydoll? Ms. Deacon will want to know who stole her favorite violin.” Rockatoo had dark voice and an accent that said she grew up making the wrong part of town right.
“Why, mon cherre, Ah’m Johnny. And Ah’m the best there eva was.” He said in a deep southern accent with a hint of creole.
The heroin sniffled a gasp. That name was in the history books as belonging to the man who brought the south to its knees decades before the Civil War.
“Johnny’s dead, suggar. You’ve got some moves, I’ll give you that, but you ain’t no Johnny.”
He set the small case down on the rooftop and began to flip the latches. “Ah’ll return it to that sweet belle if you tell meh where Ah can find mah fiddle.”
“Look it up, Rufus, I’m done mess’n ‘round.” She was getting visibly irritated by his impudence. But her instincts told her that the shade had yet to lie. Why couldn’t see him? It was dark but not that dark.
With practiced grace she leaped through the air an intimidating arc to come only inches away from her challenger. Johnny moved with a shadows speed and in an instant had a gilded ivory bow leveled at the startled woman's throat. She realized now that she couldn’t make out any details because there were no details. The bow stood out against it’s wielder with stark contrast, him being composed seemingly of the blackest pitch.
“Oh, cheri...shall we dance?”
Rockatoo deftly ducked to the side and threw a wide punch at what she took to be his kidneys. As if tangoing, the shadow evaded, drawing its bow into the air like a conductors baton and bringing it through the air as if to glide it across her now outstretched arm. She pulled away ducked for a leg sweep, continuing the momentum from her right hook and when that missed she sprung into the air for a spinning roundhouse. Her ripped white-sequin gown all the while glittering with the glow of the city lights and contrasting the utter blackness of her foe.
For his part, Johnny was impressed at the fluidity of the woman’s movements but non-the-less dodged each blow like someone simply performing a dance with their partner. He had been around for a long time and knew better than most that it took two to tango. The athletic woman launched into a series of aerial kicks, her cape spinning with her momentum. Johnny, seeing his moment to strike, sidestepped under a high arcing kick and drug his bow like a sabre across the leg that she was standing on.
The infernally sharp hairs of the bow cut a gash in her thigh as she spun and she stumbled for just a moment, but that was long enough for him to draw another cut on her arm. She felt fire in her arm and leg as villain stepped back and regarded her coolly, waiting to see if she would continue the fight. She couldn’t see his eyes but knew that they were sizing her up. She could use the perceived moment of weakness to launch a counter attack, but without her boots and armored outfit she wasn’t sure if she could take many more of those blows.
“Lost your rythem, mon cherre? The music is just getting started.”
“Baby, you aint seen nuth’n yet.”
The Plumed Avenger launched into another series of blows, but this time chose to take the tips of her split cape in each hand as she launched a flurry of Tai Chi punches. Once, twice, three times the shade tried to draw a cut on her arms and back and failed due to the armored cape. She landed blows on his core and saw him stumble. She couldn’t tell if he was winded or simply aghast at being hit, but she didn’t let the pondering distract her from her goal: beating this insufferable jive turkey into a new outlook on life.
Johnny fell back when a blow landed on his solar plexus and interrupted his movements. The woman was smart, but he tired of this routine and was ready to end it. He jabbed the bow through the air like a fencing foil and, as he expected, she ducked under it going in for a close one two on his ribs. If she had known what he was capable of, she never would have gone into such close quarters.
He dropped the bow and grabbed her in a brutal bear hug. “Song an’ dance is done, cheri. Next we play mah tune...”
“This isn’t over!” She said, desperate now.
“Oh contrair...it has just begun.” Slowly, the shadows form grew tighter around her and she felt him start to seep into her skin.
“This isn’t over!” She shouted again.
Without a word Jonny shrank and faded into the woman who crumbled to the ground. Her mind was on fire as she struggled to maintain dominance. “You will take me to mah fiddle and I will set you free. Those are mah terms,” he said to her in her mind. She struggled there on the rooftop for what seemed like an eternity. “Those are mah terms,” he repeated.
“Fine. I’ll show you you’re stupid fiddle. Then we’re done and you go back to Georgia or whereva!” she repeated admitting defeat.
“It is done then. Ah don like this any more than you. Let’s be on with it.”
The woman stood, finally. Shaky at first, then resolute, she regarded the Motor City skyline with pools of midnight-black eyes that slowly faded back to the rich brown that they’re known for. “This would be interesting, to say the least,” they each thought to themselves, “and the song has just begun.”