StarlightDancer

(hope I'm not intruding)

In the middle of an abandoned warehouse, dust motes danced in lazy patterns as they crisscrossed various splotches of tinted light wherever the sun’s rays slipped through the fissures and eroded holes of the building’s roof. This particular storage shed hadn’t been used in at least a decade and was situated on the very edge of the territory belonging to a Hellion faction. No one ever came here; there was no reason to. The rotted, patchy roof made storing anything of value impossible and was too far out of the way for even a thug to make a walk to.

And so, the ancient building was forgotten, slowly rotting and decaying until some season in the near future, it would come crashing down under the onslaught of the winter storms, or even sooner if the various wood-loving insects had their way with things (or should it become a battle ground between hero and fugitive). The dirt floor was covered in dust and other debris, and any who trespassed into the warehouses confines would invariably leave in a similar state of disrepair, not to mention sneezing and coughing up dust for an hour afterwards.

In short, the warehouse was perfect, and had become a secret haven in a place where secrets were rare and valuable commodities…

Stacked on an empty, forgotten crate left from when the warehouse had still been in use, a small, portable stereo system waited patiently, a music cartridge already loaded. A young woman stood in the middle of the floor, her almond-shaped eyes shut with mediation. The dust motes circled around her slender form, each seeking purchase on her exotic-looking jacket and cargoes. It seemed to create an ethereal aura about her as the dappled sunlight poured down on her with gentle warmth. Around her nose and mouth, she had tied a dull-colored rag to keep from either breathing in or swallowing the dust and other fine particles.

She inhaled deeply and willed the tense, knotted muscles in between her shoulder blades to relax then brushed an errant strand of silver-white hair out from the bright blue irises of her eyes. Now was not the time to worry about the world beyond the confines of this warehouse. Now was the time to let down all but the most intimate of her barriers and to lose herself in the art of simply existing with no shining, glorious purpose.

Punching a button attached to her wrist-comp, there was a three second pause before the stereo system clicked into action with one deep, rhythmic pulse of bass. And then, Melisande Ry’Shar began the dance…

The young woman’s movements were lithe and graceful as she moved in time with her chosen music; every jump and leap, twist and turn, kick and pose was choreographed by her mind and spirit only. No one knew of this particular talent, and Melisande would gladly go to the grave before ever confessing to it. Dancing in her native realm was a strict, stringent affair that allowed little for creativity and followed precise, mathematical rules and steps…And it was the last thing in the world that Melisande wanted to subject herself to.

As the girl wove her way through combination after combination, speeding up her motions until her body was a blur as she glided and flew across the dusty, dirt floor. She let her mind roam freely, not particularly caring in which direction it decided to flee. And as usual, it traveled to the same place that it always did when given free reign.

‘What did I ever do to deserve such a…flaw...’

It was putting the situation mildly. Melisande was a flaw, a defect; something to be swept under the rug and never talked about again. No matter that she had no say of how she was born. Her natal gift should have been nothing more suspicious than a unique eye color or perhaps a body better suited to gymnastics or martial arts than someone else. But that wasn’t how things worked in the Clans. Not when dealing with inborn ‘talents’ such like Melisande had been gifted with.

As it was, she could feel the whispers of thoughts, the press of emotions not her own battering against her remaining, fragile shields. Her eyes clouded over as the hums and buzzing increased, listened with divided attention as the gentle beats of butterflies against her mind turned into the droning of wasps and hornets.

’Focus, girl…Focus and contain…’

The humming, penetration thoughts and emotions slackened as Melisande beat them back into submission.

Dropping to the ground in a sweaty, dusty exhaustion just as the song and routine ended, Melisande lay flat against the dirt in a spread-eagle position, not particularly caring just how filthy she was fast becoming. As usual, she would let others chalk it up to some outdoor exercise or fight that was so common a sight with heroes. No one had ever asked any probing question that Melisande couldn’t deflect with an innocent look or half-truth. So far…

Wiping her leather-clad forearm across her sweat-drenched forehead, she resisted the urge to take off her face mask. Instead, Melisande slowly crawled to her feet and made a sketchy attempt at dusting herself off. She could feel the grit and sweat imbedded into her icy-streaked hair which she carelessly tucked back behind one gently pointed ear. Right now, a hot shower and a good sleep sounded like the best things in the world to her.

The young woman glanced down at her wrist-comp and did a quick check on the time. There was just enough to slip out from the warehouse and make a circuitous jogging route back towards the Yellow Line with no one the wiser. It was no coincidence that her chosen route would be through the concrete jungle that was the Industrial District…One of the advantages to serving her current contact, she thought to herself with a small smirk behind the cloth mask. Even less suspicion to arouse.

’I’ll just say I arrested some faction and am heading back to my contact. Hmm…Better get going while I still have the energy…’

Melisande quickly replaced the audio system back into the hidden compartment underneath some empty crates and barrels and stretched out with her peculiar gifts to make certain no presence or sentient mind was within sight or hearing distance. When she was absolutely certain that her haven was secure and free from prying eyes, only then did Melisande slip out from the rear entrance to the warehouse and began the long trek back to Steel Canyon…

The sound of crushing waves drifted up across the gently sloping beach, the swirling hillocks composed over time of beige sand and small pebbles, with the occasional piece of seaweed or driftwood dotting the deserted landscape. A fine spray of saline danced in the air every time a wave encroached upon the shore, its salty taste permeating the senses but in a way that always felt peaceful rather than overpowering. Higher up the hill, there were tall grasses, used to growing in a salty and sandy environment, along with a tenacious ground cover that could be found every where along the San Francisco coastline. The sandy hill did an admirable job of hiding the small parking lot, and when one trekked down to the tide lines and faced the bay, the view was quite remarkable during the day.

But this early in the morning, Baker beach was shrouded in a cold, damp blanket of fog and mist, its ability to seep through jackets and coverings almost infamous and highly common to any native of Frisco. At the same time, however, being on the beach this early meant that no one had yet ventured out, and wouldn’t until the sun began to burn off the fog. It was worth the mild discomfort of cold to have an entire stretch of beach to yourself.

Stretching out luxuriously in the dew-chilled sand, an adolescent female laid back with her head pillowed against the natural earth and looked up at the cloudy sky. Her breathing, her pulse, her very essence mirrored the rhythms of the waves, and her gaze drifted lazily over the sights within her peripheral vision. Off to the East was the towering edifice of the Golden Gate Bridge. Straight ahead, to the North side of the bay, were craggy, jagged cliffs that not even the most fool-hardy of climbers would dare to scale. Even though it was too foggy to see, she could clearly envision the small, scraggly tree that perched on the highest rise, alone in its constant vigilance of watching over the sprawling bay. To the west were equally severe cliffs, but at the top of them was sprinkled dozens of houses, considered the most ostentatious and coveted dwellings in all of San Francisco, and subsequently, priced accordingly. Space was always at a premium in the cramped and crowded city, and everyone gladly paid top dollar for even a small, three by three foot plot of grass that was meticulously mowed by gardeners every week.

Calysta could easily imagine what the view would be like from one of those expensive bay windows…Could probably even see the fins of the great white sharks as the massive beasts hunted for seals and sea lions off the Farallon islands…Though that was probably stretching the truth a bit.

Tilting her head a bit and picking up some more clumps of sand in her unbound, raven black hair, the young woman who was in the twilight of adolescence caught sight of the small creek that drained into the bay. It was more like a glorified runoff ditch for the city’s gutters, but it still sounded nice and most parents even let their children build dams of sand and driftwood in the afternoons. Calysta cringed at the thought of actually playing in the water and turned away from the creek. The raucous cries of a few seagulls sounded through the mist as loud as a fog horn, startling her for a moment. Soon, the sandpipers and pelicans would be combing the beach, looking for an unsuspecting sand crab, sea star, or jelly to catch for breakfast: Which also meant that the sun would soon rise over the east side of the city and begin waking the coastal city’s denizens.

The dark eyed girl sighed and slowly sat up from the sand, absently shaking it out of her hair and sluffing it off her skin. Though most tans in Frisco were straight out of the bottle or salon bed, her skin was a nice, golden bronze, with olive undertones signifying a Mediterranean lineage. Most would figure she lived in Little Italy or had come directly from the mother land. But contrary to that thought, Calysta was born and raised in the city and truly never wanted to leave if she could help it.

A few minutes later, with a pair of brown leather Birkenstocks dangling from her left hand, and sand still clinging to her black shirt and faded, hip-hugger jeans, the youth trudged up the beach just as the first few tendrils of determined sunlight pierced through the morning gloom.

Luckily, it wasn’t that far of a walk back to her residence, illegal though it was. Left over from the military history of San Francisco, there was a huge and now deserted complex of military-issue apartments, perfect for a lone and orphaned girl to make a small niche. Calysta mentally shrugged against the fact that soon she would be discovered and promptly evicted, if not outright arrested. A few years ago, if rumors were to be believed, George Lucas had recently purchased the land and houses, but she had no idea what use he would make of it. The battle had been fierce for the property, with the other buyer some money-hungry land developer who wanted the buildings for high-end residences. Not that it had mattered when all was said and done. Calysta wouldn’t need the empty rooms after today. Now, the only worry was hoping her limited amount of savings would get her on the bus to what would become her next home.

Today, her eyes had shifted in color to a calming turquoise, the hue of the ocean on a beautiful day. Like her moods and most other parts of her character, they changed on a daily basis and by now, no one ever really took notice. Most figured that Calysta was on a steady supply of designer contacts, and she was content to keep that story in circulation.

The young woman shook her head violently, brutally pummeling the wool-gathering thoughts and focusing on the day’s tasks. For one, breakfast was in order, and a nice chai latté from Starbucks sounded perfect, especially when paired with a giant, crumbly oatmeal cookie. There was enough money in her jeans pocket to suffice, and it would be easy enough to grab her backpack and single suitcase before heading out. One good thing about living in the military housing was that she didn’t have to worry about rent; or a car payment, insurance, or gas. Maybe one day Calysta would give in and buy one, but that was for later. When she had a studio apartment in Atlas Park, the most infamous of all sectors in Paragon City, and a steady job that paid more than her part time one at Golden Boys Pizza, the small hole in the wall pizza parlor that celebrities frequented whenever a movie was being shot, and that every native knew how to find.

Thinking of the focaccia-based crust and melted cheese and oregano topping made Calysta’s stomach rumble. The bus left at 11 sharp so she’d better get hustling. First though, she had to make a stop at Starbucks…

(ooc: silly me forgot to do the fine print. This is an open RP, really just to get my fingers back on the keyboard since I've been taking a hiatus from writing. My last stint was on SWG so I'm used to writing Star Wars, not CoH. I'm hoping I can make a smooth transition. No idea yet where the thread is going, as I said just really a way to get into the forum and meet the posters here )