"I can still remember The words and what they meant"
An eerie quiet took over the streets of Paragon as the small-framed, short man shrugged through the crowds, leather jacket over an apparently bare chest, slacks covering sneakers in an interesting inversion of fancy. Headphones covered his ears as he looked around, hands shoved deep in pockets.
"As we etched them with our fingers In years of wet cement"
The city was a den of hive and villainy more than heroism, dark shadows overtaking what could be proud and true. The flags, the stars and stripes, were a vague mockery of what could've been. What was. What will never be again.
"The days blurred into each other Though everything seemed clear"
Tall skyscrapers harassed the sky with fevor, exposition to the city's true demeanor. The world was turning and Paragon was just sitting there in wait of it's inevitable demise to the criminal mind that would lead uninterrupted.
"We cruised along at half spe-"
The short figure tore the headphones off his head, lowering them to his neck as he saw a particular large building, heading towards it's front. Slowly, carefully, he approached the entrance, looking around.
"Seems to be safe." He murmured to himself, walking towards it at a standard pace. Within moments, however, he was pulled into the deep shadows of the night. He had a feeling blood was about to show.
"Gimme your money."
"Oh, I'd rather not." Murmured the shadowy figure, checking his watch as the frustrated mugger approached.
"It's your money or your life pal."
"I do believe I can have both." He casually said, brushing his untrimmed hair from his face while tapping his foot on the gravelly alley.
"Wiseguy, eh? How about six inches of steel?" He said, flicking out a knife and holding it next to the short-framed man's heart.
"How about piss off?" He said, cracking his neck as the taller, bulkier man grinned, plunging the knife into his chest.
"Ow."
The leather jacket man grimaced, blood slipping from his wound. To the suprise of the mugger, the wound quickly repaired itself, and a frowning man in a leather jacket with superhuman regeneration stood before the man - now feeling awfully inferior though about a foot taller and 50 pounds greater.
"Now I have the upper hand."
With a scream, the leather jacketed man cast aside his leather jacket, unfolding a large pair of wings, burnt, which flapped a few times to get some blood circulating. With a grin, Allen Graves, better known as Trianao, approached the mugger. The mugger tried to run - first mistake.
A simple flying tackle towards the muggers back resulted in him hitting the floor with a loud boom-like sound effect, and turning his almost-unconcious body to face upwards was not a hard task. With almost inhuman attitude, Trianao went to work on destroying the man's face, streaks of crimson outlining the pavement with the unmistakable stench of blood.
"Oh, I just love doing that."
Trianao grinned, adorning himself with the leather jacket once more. His work was complete. The elevator ride would be long, boring. Going to the bar would be full of braggarts and *****.
His apartment, however, would have only him. And he knows the truth about himself. About everyone.
And the truth could sometimes be more entertaining than any fiction.
((Hi guys! First writing topic here on City Of Heroes, uh, just testing out my skills, if you have any feedback, either post here or PM - whatever works. Thanks.))
Posted
I liked it. The not-quite-noir feel was interesting, but not overplayed, and there's something about the tempo... even the prose sections felt a bit like poetry, which was really cool.
The words and what they meant"
In years of wet cement"
Though everything seemed clear"
Tall skyscrapers harassed the sky with fevor, exposition to the city's true demeanor. The world was turning and Paragon was just sitting there in wait of it's inevitable demise to the criminal mind that would lead uninterrupted.
"We cruised along at half spe-"