(no subject)
((Test run for Ace. If it works out well, this will definitely form part of their canon. If not, well, you know what they say, practice makes perfect. ♥))
She'd known that Renard's concept of an "artist's street" wasn't new. When he'd set up one in Paris, he'd told her that it wasn't the first, and that there were a couple of already-established ones in America. It was like a form of MMORPG, he'd said, only that as opposed to facing a computer all day, there was actual physical interaction - even among the streets of different countries, which was through various meets and competitions.
People signed up for different reasons. Some, like Renard, were bored and had nothing better to do with their time and money. Others were truly artists who could no longer practice their craft for various reasons - singers dropped by their record labels, dance groups that had disbanded, writers whose works were never published... the list went on. But, like most games, the number one reason was that it served as an escape from reality. Out on the streets, there was anonymity, and they could be the sort of individuals they could only dream of becoming.
There was one such street near where she now lived, and she found out about it only a few days after they'd moved in. Apparently, Renard had advised his friends of her coming, and so she was invited over and inducted into the group almost immediately. With their crowd specializing on dance, Ace had fit in perfectly.
"Evenin', pops," she greeted as she came in, sitting down by the counter.
The bartender was actually their caretaker and watcher, although he didn't look like it given his rough and rather scary demeanor. He was even a father-figure to some of them, and he seemed rather pleased with his role. "Ah, Ace. The usual?"
"Yes, please."
He tossed her a can of soda. "It's on me, kid."
She chuckled. "Geez, that's sweet, pops. Thanks."
Their headquarters was a small bar; behind the establishment was a street to which they could do as they please, as neither pedestrians nor vehicles passed through. And on the second and third floors were rooms their "pops" had for rent, but of course they always got the rooms at discounted prices.
Because the bar was a rather popular destination in the area, they had to be extra-creative with their disguises. Like her, almost all the others were students from reputable institutions, and it would do them no good to be seen hanging out at such a place. That night, she wore a simple but effective disguise - the casual hip-hop attire made her blend in with the teenage crowd, but she never lowered her jacket's hood, so it always cast a shadow over her eyes.
She sat and waited. I hope there's something interesting tonight.
She'd known that Renard's concept of an "artist's street" wasn't new. When he'd set up one in Paris, he'd told her that it wasn't the first, and that there were a couple of already-established ones in America. It was like a form of MMORPG, he'd said, only that as opposed to facing a computer all day, there was actual physical interaction - even among the streets of different countries, which was through various meets and competitions.
People signed up for different reasons. Some, like Renard, were bored and had nothing better to do with their time and money. Others were truly artists who could no longer practice their craft for various reasons - singers dropped by their record labels, dance groups that had disbanded, writers whose works were never published... the list went on. But, like most games, the number one reason was that it served as an escape from reality. Out on the streets, there was anonymity, and they could be the sort of individuals they could only dream of becoming.
There was one such street near where she now lived, and she found out about it only a few days after they'd moved in. Apparently, Renard had advised his friends of her coming, and so she was invited over and inducted into the group almost immediately. With their crowd specializing on dance, Ace had fit in perfectly.
"Evenin', pops," she greeted as she came in, sitting down by the counter.
The bartender was actually their caretaker and watcher, although he didn't look like it given his rough and rather scary demeanor. He was even a father-figure to some of them, and he seemed rather pleased with his role. "Ah, Ace. The usual?"
"Yes, please."
He tossed her a can of soda. "It's on me, kid."
She chuckled. "Geez, that's sweet, pops. Thanks."
Their headquarters was a small bar; behind the establishment was a street to which they could do as they please, as neither pedestrians nor vehicles passed through. And on the second and third floors were rooms their "pops" had for rent, but of course they always got the rooms at discounted prices.
Because the bar was a rather popular destination in the area, they had to be extra-creative with their disguises. Like her, almost all the others were students from reputable institutions, and it would do them no good to be seen hanging out at such a place. That night, she wore a simple but effective disguise - the casual hip-hop attire made her blend in with the teenage crowd, but she never lowered her jacket's hood, so it always cast a shadow over her eyes.
She sat and waited. I hope there's something interesting tonight.