ArchivedLogs:Distancing Discordance

Distancing Discordance
Dramatis Personae Anette, Killian
In Absentia	2015-11-29 Consider yourself lucky I didn't tell him anything about /you/.
Location <NYC> East Harlem
<NYC> East Harlem With the highest violent crime rate in Manhattan and a failing educational system, it is easy to overlook the charms of El Barrio. Amidst its problems, East Harlem is a place thriving with culture. Salsa dancing has a rich history in the neighborhood, and in the open-air markets a wide assortment of goods can be bought from the West African community there. The /charms/ of El Barrio, indeed. As night falls on East Harlem, chilly as it drops into the lower and lower forties, this is certainly nowhere to be even without the occasional ambling zombie horde wandering by. The great, old and unkempt buildings that are so vibrantly painted -graffiti or murals alike- all fade into the darkness as most street lights fail to still be standing or functional and so many business fronts are blackened, shut down; most have certainly been raided by now. Fortunately travel by air is less devastatingly risky to life than by ground. Black raven on black night, Killian swoops and dives, turning to fall between buildings. His destination for an run-down abandoned-appearing apartment building seems straightforward. Wings don't even need to tuck, remaining at full-breadth as he passes through a fully broken wide front window on an upper level. A few seconds behind Killian, hiding in the shadows and the dark, Anette flies behind, silent wings carrying her through the air. Not gifted with the ability of a complete transformation, she's forced to hide with more mundance tactics - black tanktop, black jeans, and black combat boots. Yellow eyes focus in on the raven she's been following him for sometime, maintaining just enough distance to keep him within her enhanced sight and hearing range. His entrance to the apartment building poses a challenge though. Rather than flying in immediatelly, she lands on gargoyle nearby, crouching on the creature's shoulders and listening in. Once she deems it safe for her to enter, she carefully swings herself down and jumps, rather than flys, into the window. There's some stuff in the room, easier to see if one has night vision. There's a small table along the far wall next to a door that's been chained and locked from the inside. The table top has a black duffle bag on it, zipped closed but lumpy with whatever contents it holds. The old beaten up silver flip-phone of Killian's rests next to it. Shards of glass litter the floor from the shattered windows, some apparently having been moved to the corners of the room instead of in the middle of it. But at first glance there's nobody visibly apparent. But heightened senses could pick up the sound of breathing from /right/ beside the window. Immediately to Anette's left, Killian is leaning against the wall, one booted foot propped against the lower part of the wall, his arms folded. He clenches and unclenches his jaw once, before his expression turns- with effort- into a faint but false grin. "Changing neighborhoods?" Comes a very dark voice. The sound of breathing does not go unmissed and upon landing she quickly backs away and turns to face Killian, eyes still focused on him. "Scoping it out," she responds coldly. "Did I stumble onto your office?" She twists her head to scan the room, taking in the items and locked door before turning back towards Killian, still taking a very active stance and not warming up to him just yet. "How did you know?" she asks, referring to his awareness of her presence of course. "Stumble." Killian echoes her word, giving it the sarcastic flare of disbelief and the low volume and tone of disapproval, as cold blue eyes watch her. But he doesn't move, aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. "A drop-off." He clarifies as she observes the objects further within. There's a dismissive, short, hard chuckle at her question, his first movement coming as a slight drop of his head, "It's sort of what I do. Don't die, don't get caught..." His words are no more friendly than they had been as he continues, though the edge of anger remains eminent if contained for now. He hmphs under his breath, another harsh hint of a laugh, "You fly as prey if you want an eye out for certain... predators." "Is that what I am now, a predator?" Anette says with a faint chuckle. She turns to glance over the objects once again. "A drop-off. Well, I know better than to ask what or to whom." She glances towards Killian and offers a grin. "Well, I have to say, your survivor skills are spot on. I really shouldn't keep you from finishing your job. See you back on the island," she offers with a small salute before turning back towards the window. She doesn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to leave, clearly expecting to be stopped. Killian doesn't respond to the first, though his expression may have softened a hint. He pushes off the wall, crossing the room, glass crunching quietly beneath his boots- the fragments small, stepped on at least a couple times before. Just before he reaches the table, the cell phone begins buzzing- the vibration at such a low level, it's a soft thing. 'Z' pops up on the tiny front screen. "It's done." He says to her, observing the screen as he lifts it, before she leaves as if the call itself says as much. And then after a heavier pause, not facing her, "Why are you out here, Anette?" Is asked as the phone continues to vibrate, unanswered. Anette pauses as she just reaches the window, hands resting on edge of the windowsill, speaking without turning to face Killian. "I'm honoring my deal with G. We never did finish discussing that ourselves and you'll forgive me if I don't trust you to stay away or keep me in the loop." She turns around, leaning up against the window (carefully avoiding any shards of glass) with a dark smirk. "And if you plan on distracting me again, I can assure you that only works once. Though you're more than welcome to try again if you'd like." "As you shouldn't." Killian agrees with her level of trust, partially muffled as he shifts to stuff the phone in a back pocket and slide the duffle bag from the table by its arm strap. He hefts it over his shoulder, turning to her. "We never had an agreement." His steps bring him slowly closer to her, blue eyes watching her own, approaching until he's within a couple feet, a foot. "But y'can't follow me everywhere, y'can't protect anyone 'round the clock by yourself. Better off at least /trying/ to keep your own tail safe." "Fine then, let's come to an agreement," Anette says, shifting her weight to one leg as she takes a relaxed pose, still standing directly in front of the window. "I understand I put you in a...difficult position. But I'm in a tricky position, too. You think if something happens to G now that I'm going to be off scott free?" As his blue eyes lock with her yellow, she straightens her stance, tensing up a bit with his last sentence. "Watch me." There's a scream from within the building, at some distance as if a few floors down, with louder moans that quickly cover up the noise that promptly falls into silence. Killian is quiet through the commotion, listening- with dull human ears- until it seems to end. But his cool eyes don't leave hers, that grin of his spreading suspiciously, "Fine." He notes abruptly after everything, shifting his weight back as if to release the pressure his approach had intended. "I'll make a deal. /When/ I take care of him, I'll make sure to get his dogs too. Won't be a single fuckin' one to hunt you down after." Anette appears more concerned by the screams and moans, turning her head just slightly to get the best position to listen in. Still, she's also listening to Killian's words, raising a brow in disbelief at his deal. "Afraid not. Like you said before, they're all connected. There will always be the risk of someone hunting me. And it still leaves me out a deal which, for the sake of the entire island really, let's not." She crosses her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one leg as she finally begins taking a more relaxed stance. "I also plan on keeping my word." "Nah, not if what you told me was true. Higher ups ain't gonna waste their time if you just made a deal with him. His fault mixing it up with a buyer." Killian is, apparently, unconcerned about whatever just happened in the building. He also seems particularly unconcerned about the topic at hand. "Not gonna waste my time tiptoeing around the city hoping I don't come across some shithead who sells you powder. Not gonna take the chance of you getting yourself killed for no fucking reason, either. Easier to just erase the problem." He makes a vague gesture to the window behind her, "Need money, go lift some shit. Need drugs, I'm pretty damn sure zombies ain't buyin'." "Interesting seeing you so sure about this considering the last time I brought this up you looked ready to maul me," Anette says. "No need to tiptoe, I'll give you every detail I know about him. Make it /very/ easy to avoid him." She turns her head again, listening in on the various noises in the building for a few seconds before continuing. "Don't think I'm not doing what I can. It seems protection from stray jaguars is worth a lot. Consider yourself lucky I didn't tell him anything about /you/. Now..." she says, straightening up a bit and uncrossing her arms, "how strong are the locks on that door?" "Before I didn't have a way to fix it." He says simply, but there's a significant change in him at what she says next. Killian loses that arrogantly amused expression, dropping to a dark, serious one. His blue eyes darken too, as they narrow, his jaw set. He takes a couple of slow, deliberate steps back from her, an even slower breath taken after. Those eyes change, flickering to olive, to gold, dominating over the blue yet faded by the darkness of the room. And yet, such subtle unspoken changes could surely go missed when a very /heavy/ thud slams against the door, rattling the very chains Anette had just seconds before questioned. It sounds not all unlike the heaviness of the dead weight of a (un)dead body being thrown up against it. Though it isn't the locks that seem to give, as when the force hits it again, it’s the old, rusted hinges that creak. "Fix it? Murdering his all of his 'dogs' is your idea of 'fixing' it?" Anette responds incredulously, though her attention is now mostly focused on the door threatening to give way any second. Slowly, she kneels to a crouch, reaching down to her boot where she pulls out a knife that had been hidden away. "Let's say we continue this discussion somewhere safer like the roof?" she says, backing away carefully towards the window. Killian readjusts the bag, letting it slide off of his shoulder and nearly hit the ground. The lines of rather furious anger on his face are clearer when he moves towards her, not bothering to /face/ the door so much as gesture again to the window, specifically this time in a 'let's go' sort of motion. Another body hits the door- either the same or another- and the lower hinge gives. There must be at least three on the other side, as the wooden door splinters and shows pale, pasty legs, some with shredded pant legs, others without. Equally pasty fingers curl under the fragmented corner of the door, some of the skin and decayed muscle being stripped away to reveal bone beneath a few in the zombies’ mindless effort to /yank/ it open. "Nothing left to discuss." Killian says dryly as he moves past her to toss the bag out the window out onto the fire escape beyond. "Funny. I don't feel any closer to a resolution than I did before," Anette says, bitter sarcasm dripping in her voice as she quickly turns around, climbing out the window inches behind Killian. She crouches down again to slip the knife back in her boot, before rising back up and glancing around to get her bearings. "Better hope they haven't figured out how to climb the fire escape..." she murmurs, glancing up and down to be sure it's clear. Killian passes through the window wordlessly, collecting the duffle bag and vaulting up the fire escape with apparently well-practiced ease. When he's reached the next level, he pulls up the ladder rung by rung after himself, or after Anette if she follows not by wing. But he doesn’t, otherwise, turn back for her. He hefts himself up and over the final ledge onto the gravel-topped roof not quite on-level with the final metal landing he stands on. The effort may be unnecessary though. There's another scream within the building, and the sound of the door being turned into splinters comes to a halt. Instead, the gross sounds of flesh ripping and dying wails from a couple rooms down the hallway replace the sounds of pursuit. Anette does indeed take the easier route, jumping from the escape once Killian begins climbing, wing stretched out to coast with a few beats, she's gained height again. Meeting Killian up on the roof, she steps into a landing, cringing at the sounds of screaming and tearing flesh. Without thinking, her right hand reaches up to her left shoulder where the scars on her shoulder are still visible. "God help them..." she murmurs, quietly enough it's clear she was merely consoling herself. Killian wanders some paces across the roof, gaze slipping across the area, its layout and then pausing in his steps to look across to the most adjacent buildings as well. It's out of the corner of his eye that he watches her touch her shoulder, though aside from clearing his throat, grants nothing more to it. "Yea, but it’ll keep ‘em busy." He mutters, rubbing a hand roughly over the stubble of his face, still absorbed it appears to be lost in his own thoughts. His tone is noticeably low, tired, annoyed, "You should go home. I'm done for the night." "If you insist," Anette says. "Thought I'd keep an eye on you, make sure you got out alright. Take care." She turns and makes her way to the edge of the building and, with one last glance oer her shoulder towards Killian, steps off the building. After a few floors, her wings stretch out again and she coasts off into the darkness. Killian doesn't watch Anette fly off, focused instead on himself. No raven can carry a duffle bag, not by itself. The shifter drops it on the ground, adjusting the strap wider, longer. His form darkens again, but not to feathers. Black rosettes on blacker hide; the same jaguar that had attacked her not so long ago and left that deep trauma of her shoulder is present here, now. Giant cat nuzzles its head into the strap he'd just adjusted, one leg fitted through to carry it all the same as a human would across his back. And once in place, the feline takes off in a bounding leap to land on adjacent roofs, fire escapes, landings- whatever might keep him above the infested streets- though not in the direction of the island.