Post by quinnquinn on Mar 19, 2016 18:57:56 GMT -8
He usually avoided reaps in New York nowadays. But he'd been the last to claim his reaps this round of orders, so here he was.
He could hear angry shouts coming from inside the apartment, sort of shabby and run down. There wasn't much to comment about here except for the... well the lack of much, really. He was by the fire escape, peering into the room where a woman and a teenager - Owen figured he looked a little older than he did - were spouting loud words at each other. He could gleam the general gist of the conversation - a boy falling into bad company, a mother's violent concern. Owen seemed to care little. As if he of all people would know what a normal family life should have looked like.
The sliding window to their lounge room remained carelessly unlocked. Owen nonchalantly pushed the glass open and stepped inside. The room smelled old, dusty, perhaps. He already knew which one he had to reap - his thread was the lovely colour of blood now. The clock was ticking down slowly as the argument ensued, neither party giving up their case. Owen stood quietly in the corner of the room, going entirely unnoticed.
It wasn't hard to predict what came next. A gun was drawn, a struggle ensued, accidental fire. It was all silent after the loud bang, to the apprentice it felt like the gunshot had made him deaf.
He grabbed the thread from a distance as the teenager fell to the floor, mother too shocked to speak. Owen's pen ripped the threads apart, and as he let the frayed ends go, he stepped out the front door, unnoticed as well.
Outside, there was no evidence that anything had just happened. As if gunshots were a regular occurrence here, no one stopped to look. Or perhaps mistaken for another sound around here.
Perhaps death was closer to this small block than others.
~~~~
The park provided some form of peace. The police had arrived by the block across the road, although he could care less for the sirens and flashing lights. At least the dead man inside would get some form of justice, the truth would be found. Even in death he already had more than Owen ever would, and he couldn't help but feel jealous. Dying was not pleasant, he would admit, but there were plenty of other things that were worse.
This worn out bench was a decent spot to sit and watch the people go by. The birds and general chatter barely managed to push the sirens to the back of the soundscape, but if Owen focused enough he wouldn't hear a thing.
A sparrow had landed on his palms, which had a bit of birdseed in them. Perhaps this little one would take him back to HQ today.
He could hear angry shouts coming from inside the apartment, sort of shabby and run down. There wasn't much to comment about here except for the... well the lack of much, really. He was by the fire escape, peering into the room where a woman and a teenager - Owen figured he looked a little older than he did - were spouting loud words at each other. He could gleam the general gist of the conversation - a boy falling into bad company, a mother's violent concern. Owen seemed to care little. As if he of all people would know what a normal family life should have looked like.
The sliding window to their lounge room remained carelessly unlocked. Owen nonchalantly pushed the glass open and stepped inside. The room smelled old, dusty, perhaps. He already knew which one he had to reap - his thread was the lovely colour of blood now. The clock was ticking down slowly as the argument ensued, neither party giving up their case. Owen stood quietly in the corner of the room, going entirely unnoticed.
It wasn't hard to predict what came next. A gun was drawn, a struggle ensued, accidental fire. It was all silent after the loud bang, to the apprentice it felt like the gunshot had made him deaf.
He grabbed the thread from a distance as the teenager fell to the floor, mother too shocked to speak. Owen's pen ripped the threads apart, and as he let the frayed ends go, he stepped out the front door, unnoticed as well.
Outside, there was no evidence that anything had just happened. As if gunshots were a regular occurrence here, no one stopped to look. Or perhaps mistaken for another sound around here.
Perhaps death was closer to this small block than others.
~~~~
The park provided some form of peace. The police had arrived by the block across the road, although he could care less for the sirens and flashing lights. At least the dead man inside would get some form of justice, the truth would be found. Even in death he already had more than Owen ever would, and he couldn't help but feel jealous. Dying was not pleasant, he would admit, but there were plenty of other things that were worse.
This worn out bench was a decent spot to sit and watch the people go by. The birds and general chatter barely managed to push the sirens to the back of the soundscape, but if Owen focused enough he wouldn't hear a thing.
A sparrow had landed on his palms, which had a bit of birdseed in them. Perhaps this little one would take him back to HQ today.
