Post by Tipper Blue Seridae on Dec 23, 2013 11:59:57 GMT -4
Tipper didn't often stray from the cities directly surrounding her own, but she did on occasion answer a special request from one or another. Just often enough that none of her daylight friends were surprised when she told them she was abruptly going out of town for the weekend. As long as she was still in one piece by Monday morning she welcomed the break in routine. This time she had been asked to follow and observe a particular member of the were race, as the local branch had often heard secondhand rumors of him breaking the law but for months they hadn't been able to overhear him admitting it or catch him at it either, meaning that people continued to periodically disappear and the local Sentella had nothing to show for it.
Her supervisor let her go early Friday, so Tipper was able to drive to Harper Valley, find her errant were--a coyote, the locals had informed her--and follow him as the others hadn't been able to, until just before dawn on Sunday morning she caught the were pouncing on a woman out in her pajamas to walk her dog. The were killed the dog and nearly killed the woman, if Tipper hadn't driven him off, but she couldn't save the woman while killing the man, so she'd had to let him go.
On Saturday night she checked her tools for the fight though. Dark blue jeans, a sturdy belt, a dark leather jacket with a detachable hood, and her hair tightly hidden under a brimmed hat. The brim shaded her face and made it harder for others to identify her by face, though for vampires it was a mostly futile attempt that required more obscuring. Her silver-made blades she kept in her jacket, where they were less visible and more likely to help protect her ribs when not drawn. She kept two small, quiet firearms tucked into a contraption she'd made herself--something along the lines of a cummerbund that wrapped beneath her shirt, since they were too heavy and bulky to reliably keep in her jacket with the knives. Once that was taken care of, she rubbed a little silver dust on the toes of her boots and adjusted the leather guards on her arms, and left her hotel.
Tipper could only shake her head in disgust as she observed the were following nearly the same pattern as he had the night before. The way he ducked through buildings and changed levels did make it tricky for most people to follow him, but most people weren't four foot five with an uncanny ability to go unnoticed when they wanted to. Finding the man was easy. Even waiting for him to lead her to a secluded area was easy. The difficult part for her was when he proved to be a much more flexible fighter than most of her opponents were.
Tipper dropped on him from above--no one ever bothered to watch the upper levels for attackers--and threw him down with the momentum accompanying her paltry weight. He bellowed and rolled to the side, until her back dug into the metal sewer grate beside the wall. Tipper grappled for a firmer purchase on his swinging head as she wrapped her legs tightly around his ribcage. It was too easy to stab herself in the arm when he was throwing his head around like that.
He jerked to his feet, dragging her with him, and she had to content herself with a two-handed grip on the skin between his neck and shoulder and one of his ears. She didn't like him standing--it made it easier for him to maneuver and harder for her--so she unwound her legs, dug her toes into the waistband of his jeans, straightened her legs, and bounced. His center of balance obliterated, he toppled back, rolling onto her, and she adjusted so they kept rolling until she was crouching on his back. She slammed the handle of one of her knives into the back of each of his knees to weaken the muscles there and at the kneecaps to make it harder for him to rise.
Then the unexpected flexible nature of her opponent revealed itself. He arced his back and kicked her between the shoulders. She flew over his head and skidded back onto her feet in seconds, but that was long enough for the were to put them face to face. Because she knew he wasn't expecting it, she dove to meet him. Hands halfway turned to claws raked at her back but the angle wasn't good for him to get any real purchase. He walked backward as she pressured forward, preventing her from getting another grip on him, but he stumbled unexpectedly and she fell into him, dagger extended.
She knew he was dead the second his back hit the pavement and drove the dagger through his ribcage, so she didn't bother checking as she rolled off of him and sprawled on her back to catch her breath.
Her supervisor let her go early Friday, so Tipper was able to drive to Harper Valley, find her errant were--a coyote, the locals had informed her--and follow him as the others hadn't been able to, until just before dawn on Sunday morning she caught the were pouncing on a woman out in her pajamas to walk her dog. The were killed the dog and nearly killed the woman, if Tipper hadn't driven him off, but she couldn't save the woman while killing the man, so she'd had to let him go.
On Saturday night she checked her tools for the fight though. Dark blue jeans, a sturdy belt, a dark leather jacket with a detachable hood, and her hair tightly hidden under a brimmed hat. The brim shaded her face and made it harder for others to identify her by face, though for vampires it was a mostly futile attempt that required more obscuring. Her silver-made blades she kept in her jacket, where they were less visible and more likely to help protect her ribs when not drawn. She kept two small, quiet firearms tucked into a contraption she'd made herself--something along the lines of a cummerbund that wrapped beneath her shirt, since they were too heavy and bulky to reliably keep in her jacket with the knives. Once that was taken care of, she rubbed a little silver dust on the toes of her boots and adjusted the leather guards on her arms, and left her hotel.
Tipper could only shake her head in disgust as she observed the were following nearly the same pattern as he had the night before. The way he ducked through buildings and changed levels did make it tricky for most people to follow him, but most people weren't four foot five with an uncanny ability to go unnoticed when they wanted to. Finding the man was easy. Even waiting for him to lead her to a secluded area was easy. The difficult part for her was when he proved to be a much more flexible fighter than most of her opponents were.
Tipper dropped on him from above--no one ever bothered to watch the upper levels for attackers--and threw him down with the momentum accompanying her paltry weight. He bellowed and rolled to the side, until her back dug into the metal sewer grate beside the wall. Tipper grappled for a firmer purchase on his swinging head as she wrapped her legs tightly around his ribcage. It was too easy to stab herself in the arm when he was throwing his head around like that.
He jerked to his feet, dragging her with him, and she had to content herself with a two-handed grip on the skin between his neck and shoulder and one of his ears. She didn't like him standing--it made it easier for him to maneuver and harder for her--so she unwound her legs, dug her toes into the waistband of his jeans, straightened her legs, and bounced. His center of balance obliterated, he toppled back, rolling onto her, and she adjusted so they kept rolling until she was crouching on his back. She slammed the handle of one of her knives into the back of each of his knees to weaken the muscles there and at the kneecaps to make it harder for him to rise.
Then the unexpected flexible nature of her opponent revealed itself. He arced his back and kicked her between the shoulders. She flew over his head and skidded back onto her feet in seconds, but that was long enough for the were to put them face to face. Because she knew he wasn't expecting it, she dove to meet him. Hands halfway turned to claws raked at her back but the angle wasn't good for him to get any real purchase. He walked backward as she pressured forward, preventing her from getting another grip on him, but he stumbled unexpectedly and she fell into him, dagger extended.
She knew he was dead the second his back hit the pavement and drove the dagger through his ribcage, so she didn't bother checking as she rolled off of him and sprawled on her back to catch her breath.
