in the shadows | rp thread for work_with_it
Dark, shadowy streets on the other side of the City from her own apartment.
A can of pepper spray and her father's gun, both in a hastily-made holster around her waist.
She shouldn't have been there.
Nick Bruce was surprised to see her when she'd sprung up from behind him, her face covered with a black ski mask. She was all in black, like a small-time cat burglar. She used a low tone, like she imagined the Bat-man might sound, given the imitation Duela had once done of him.
Unlike the famed vigilante, Dalia had no idea what she was doing. She was able to hold the former deputy press secretary with the gun, get a few punches and kicks in - really effective ones, actually. She'd amped up her martial arts classes after the attempt on Andrew's life and had added weight lifting to her workout, too. Blood fell. Bones cracked.
Dalia stood over Nick Bruce's crumpled and bloodied body. He wasn't dead - far from it. But what the hell was she doing? What had she done? She couldn't deliver him to police - he'd already been given a deal. She couldn't even make sure he never did it again, unless she wanted to put a bullet in his head, and that--there were lines, weren't there? ...she'd crossed a big one just now, but even so.
Civil servant exacts vigilante justice, GCPD makes arrest wasn't a headline she wanted to have a part in.
That's because vigilantes don't get exposed like you're about to, dumbass, she told herself. No one ever knows who they are.
No one could ever know what she'd just done.
Dalia ran.
Away from the alley near the apartment building, down even darker streets where no one would notice someone wearing all black and in a hurry at this late hour. Somewhere along the way, she lost the mask. She didn't notice anyone or anything around her - the less she noticed, maybe the less they would notice in turn and she could blend in with the buildings, be home before someone found Nick Bruce.
A can of pepper spray and her father's gun, both in a hastily-made holster around her waist.
She shouldn't have been there.
Nick Bruce was surprised to see her when she'd sprung up from behind him, her face covered with a black ski mask. She was all in black, like a small-time cat burglar. She used a low tone, like she imagined the Bat-man might sound, given the imitation Duela had once done of him.
Unlike the famed vigilante, Dalia had no idea what she was doing. She was able to hold the former deputy press secretary with the gun, get a few punches and kicks in - really effective ones, actually. She'd amped up her martial arts classes after the attempt on Andrew's life and had added weight lifting to her workout, too. Blood fell. Bones cracked.
Dalia stood over Nick Bruce's crumpled and bloodied body. He wasn't dead - far from it. But what the hell was she doing? What had she done? She couldn't deliver him to police - he'd already been given a deal. She couldn't even make sure he never did it again, unless she wanted to put a bullet in his head, and that--there were lines, weren't there? ...she'd crossed a big one just now, but even so.
Civil servant exacts vigilante justice, GCPD makes arrest wasn't a headline she wanted to have a part in.
That's because vigilantes don't get exposed like you're about to, dumbass, she told herself. No one ever knows who they are.
No one could ever know what she'd just done.
Dalia ran.
Away from the alley near the apartment building, down even darker streets where no one would notice someone wearing all black and in a hurry at this late hour. Somewhere along the way, she lost the mask. She didn't notice anyone or anything around her - the less she noticed, maybe the less they would notice in turn and she could blend in with the buildings, be home before someone found Nick Bruce.