Post by snip on Jul 2, 2016 17:24:47 GMT -8
New York City, late May.
It was a Friday. Clouds had hung in the sky all day; even now, they blanketed the space between the sky and the earth, shielding the full moon from the view of the people below. The air on the ground had cooled since the height of the afternoon, settling at (an approximate) 60° Fahrenheit.
It was shaping up to be a decent evening. Weather-wise, at the very least.
6:25 PM on said evening found Esther on her way to a pre-designated meeting point, following the shortest route possible. She didn’t bother with the particularly paranoid habits of a worried person (slinking through shadows, disguises, the works -- there was little to disguise her lack of a thread, at any rate), but scrutiny might have revealed a restless sort of nervousness in her countenance.
She walked quickly, destination in mind, not even stopping to peer in windows -- instead, she cast the occasional wary glance at her surroundings, hands in her pockets, gaze pointed straight ahead when she wasn’t scrutinizing the Living Folks for signs of unfriendly awareness, or street corners for unfriendly Apprentices.
Regardless of how much power the Hunters carried in New York, it seemed… prudent… to avoid any potential unnecessary squabbles. The text she’d gotten earlier had said to “take care of things quickly and efficiently”.
Esther still didn’t know what to make of the text. It had arrived sometime around noon, startling her out of lunch preparations (she’d flinched at the sudden noise, nearly dropping a package of uncooked spaghetti). It had taken her a moment to realize the loud buzzing noise was a phone notification… and then another moment to cross the room, grumbling, and flip the device open with more belligerence than necessary.
[SA has papers.] the message had started, giving no indication of who in particular had written it. [You’ll be going with a fellow Hunter to retrieve them. Consider this on-the-job training.]
The text had been concluded with a street address, and her response/request for a longer explanation had been met with silence. Perhaps the number on the other end had already been purged and deleted. Either way, she’d gone, though not without some hesitance.
With four minutes to go, she rounded the corner of the last block she had to traverse, left hand still tucked into her pocket, now looking for another threadless person… or anything else that was waiting. If this was a trick, or a test, or a set-up -- any of which it very well could be -- she always had her scissors.
It was a Friday. Clouds had hung in the sky all day; even now, they blanketed the space between the sky and the earth, shielding the full moon from the view of the people below. The air on the ground had cooled since the height of the afternoon, settling at (an approximate) 60° Fahrenheit.
It was shaping up to be a decent evening. Weather-wise, at the very least.
6:25 PM on said evening found Esther on her way to a pre-designated meeting point, following the shortest route possible. She didn’t bother with the particularly paranoid habits of a worried person (slinking through shadows, disguises, the works -- there was little to disguise her lack of a thread, at any rate), but scrutiny might have revealed a restless sort of nervousness in her countenance.
She walked quickly, destination in mind, not even stopping to peer in windows -- instead, she cast the occasional wary glance at her surroundings, hands in her pockets, gaze pointed straight ahead when she wasn’t scrutinizing the Living Folks for signs of unfriendly awareness, or street corners for unfriendly Apprentices.
Regardless of how much power the Hunters carried in New York, it seemed… prudent… to avoid any potential unnecessary squabbles. The text she’d gotten earlier had said to “take care of things quickly and efficiently”.
Esther still didn’t know what to make of the text. It had arrived sometime around noon, startling her out of lunch preparations (she’d flinched at the sudden noise, nearly dropping a package of uncooked spaghetti). It had taken her a moment to realize the loud buzzing noise was a phone notification… and then another moment to cross the room, grumbling, and flip the device open with more belligerence than necessary.
[SA has papers.] the message had started, giving no indication of who in particular had written it. [You’ll be going with a fellow Hunter to retrieve them. Consider this on-the-job training.]
The text had been concluded with a street address, and her response/request for a longer explanation had been met with silence. Perhaps the number on the other end had already been purged and deleted. Either way, she’d gone, though not without some hesitance.
With four minutes to go, she rounded the corner of the last block she had to traverse, left hand still tucked into her pocket, now looking for another threadless person… or anything else that was waiting. If this was a trick, or a test, or a set-up -- any of which it very well could be -- she always had her scissors.
