No one thinks to salt or sand the tops of buildings, transforming the winter roofscape into an obstacle course of sooty snow and slick ice. The combo slows her progress, especially since it's still full daylight and she can't go overboard on the Allomancy. Her new winter jacket - a navy wool peacoat with black fleece on the inside of the turned-up collar - doesn't allow her the range of motion she's used to from hoodies and windbreakers, and she doesn't want to ruin it by rolling her falls properly. So she's a little limited, here. She'd dressed to fit in at a museum, not for acrobatics.
Neph enjoys every second of it anyway. Her thin-soled sneakers grip shingles, concrete and tar-paper equally well, and Tin spots the telltale gleam of ice even in deep shadows. The cold air chaps her cheeks and scrapes away at her lungs, hollowing out all the things she might've wished to shout at Samson and leaving her free to fill up with something better. Every jump jars her knees and the palms of her hands are scraped pink and red from gripping ledges and eaves. She does not stop, propelling herself forward and over with her own strength and judicious dabs of Iron and Steel. Her blood roars through her body, pounding against the barrier of her skin, until she's so rooted in her own capacity that there's no need to think about judging steps, leaps or distances. Neph swings off pipes and hurtles over ten-foot gaps between alleys without ever thinking about any of it at all.
In fact, she manages not to think about anything until her toes touch down on the brick that makes up all the buildings in their neighborhood. Her innermost shirt is soaked with sweat, her exposed skin is simultaneously flushed and chilled, and her nose is a little drippy. Neph scrubs at it as she cuts her pace to an easier lope.
Actual thoughts start to seep in around the edges of physical discomfort, thoughts like how she doesn't know the first thing about holding down a territory, how she's never made a point of standing her ground before. Thoughts like whether or not to put that word out, or let her continued presence do the talking for her. Thoughts like making sure Samson abides by her edict and gets the fuck outta Baltimore in the next, oh, week. Thoughts like how she'd expected to feel slimier after dealing with him, but how the simple physical grossness of being sweaty and a little smelly just wiped that all away.
Thoughts of Samson, however, drag her back to what he'd said to her about Anansi and Loki, about Benkei.
Neph skids to a final stop on her own rooftop, breath coming hard, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Someone once arranged a folding chair, a round glass-topped table, and a bucket full of gravel up here, and Neph's gotten in the habit of using them. She drops into the chair, wincing as her cold-and-damp sweater sticks to her skin, and fishes out her phone. She thumbs up Whatsapp.
did u seriously break samsons nose?
She doesn't really expect a reply right away. Allomancers keep weird schedules, and last she heard Benkei was also bouncing at a strip club outside of Bethesda. This time of afternoon, she could be asleep or just getting up. But a bubble filled with ellipses pops up almost immediately, prompting Neph to settle back in the chair in tense anticipation.
I fucking well did and I'd do it again. Comes the answer, closely followed by another ellipses-bubble. Why who told you? I thought he'd be too embarrassed to let it slip.
Neph chews on her lip, still breathing hard through her nose. Of course Benkei would assume this was grapevine stuff. Why would she ever think a Pewterarm would threaten a Mistborn twice? Because Samson thought he could bully Neph, because he thought she'd let her fear cage her. He was almost right. Neph picks at the keyboard with less than her usual nimble speed, but it's cold and her fingers are kinda numb.
he did. he tracked me down today
The response is almost instantaneous: I'LL BREAK HIS GODDAMN NECK. I WAS PRETTY CLEAR WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF HE FUCKED WITH YOU AGAIN THAT LITTLE COCKSTAIN.
Capslock all kinda blurs together in that quantity. Neph grips her phone and rereads it twice, something warm stirring inside that has nothing to do with physical exertion. Benkei's always been nice to her, she's always asked if Neph's doing okay, and they work well together. But she's also a bit older, four or five years, enough that her obvious concern had been unwelcome for a long time. Neph had felt like Benkei didn't think she could make it on her own, she'd resented that, but now...well, there's a lot of things out there to watch out for. Things Neph wouldn't wish on a younger girl, either.
thanks B but its fine. i guess A and L both cut him off too and he thought i made them do it
Benkei, having been in this game longer than Neph, immediately gets it. Damn, good for them. Even if they were just watching out for #1, that's decent of them.
Which were basically Neph's thoughts, too. decent of YOU to hit him for me
I am ALWAYS down for punching whiny boys who don't understand the word 'no'. Neph thinks, all in a flash, that those are some very lucky strippers in Bethesda, and then Benkei sends: Do you need backup? Or help hiding a body?
It really says something about her friends that that's everybody's first offer. Lecter'd asked her the same thing. She snorts, hesitates, then writes, no i just told him to gtfo Baltimore
She doesn't think Benkei will need that spelled out for her either, but the ellipses blink for a long stretch of minutes before the reply comes. Holy shit. You sure?
That's a question Neph suddenly suspects she's going to be asking herself a lot in the next few...whatevers. Weeks, months. Years? She can't even imagine herself at twenty, twenty one, never dared think more than a job or two ahead. But now, huddled in her nice new coat, sitting on the roof above her startlingly fancy apartment, with one of her aliases on a lease that could stretch all the way through Hannibal's residency, the future is a slowly whirling galaxy starred with too many possibilities to number. She could get lost in the thought, but she's an open sky. She encompasses, damn it.
yeah, long enough for it to count, anyway, she types.
Good for you too, then.
The smile that breaks over Neph's face almost splits her dry lip. She rubs a line of sweat off her forehead before replying, thanks Benkei. i'll be in touch. Then she pockets her phone, picks the roof door lock, and heads down the stairs. She could swing through one of their windows, but their apartment faces the street and, again: broad daylight.
With her snow delays and her text conversation, Neph's a little surprised to find that she did beat Hannibal (and maybe Will?) back to the apartment. It's a relief to have the place to herself, familiar surroundings promising safety and comfort and support in a way only a private space can. Neph hangs up her jacket, collects some clean clothes from her room, and heads to the bathroom so she can strip out of her sweaty layers and take advantage of the building's hot water supply.
She steps out twenty minutes later in a cloud of vaguely herbal steam (on the off chance Hannibal's still feeling huggy, she figured she'd use his soaps instead of her own aggressively candy-scented stuff), wearing an anonymous white tee that could be either hers or Hannibal's, she honestly doesn't know, and a pair of pajama pants that puddle around her heels. Neph ruffles a towel over her hair before draping it around her neck and cocking her head to listen for the sounds of someone else being home.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-02-04 11:50 pm (UTC)Neph enjoys every second of it anyway. Her thin-soled sneakers grip shingles, concrete and tar-paper equally well, and Tin spots the telltale gleam of ice even in deep shadows. The cold air chaps her cheeks and scrapes away at her lungs, hollowing out all the things she might've wished to shout at Samson and leaving her free to fill up with something better. Every jump jars her knees and the palms of her hands are scraped pink and red from gripping ledges and eaves. She does not stop, propelling herself forward and over with her own strength and judicious dabs of Iron and Steel. Her blood roars through her body, pounding against the barrier of her skin, until she's so rooted in her own capacity that there's no need to think about judging steps, leaps or distances. Neph swings off pipes and hurtles over ten-foot gaps between alleys without ever thinking about any of it at all.
In fact, she manages not to think about anything until her toes touch down on the brick that makes up all the buildings in their neighborhood. Her innermost shirt is soaked with sweat, her exposed skin is simultaneously flushed and chilled, and her nose is a little drippy. Neph scrubs at it as she cuts her pace to an easier lope.
Actual thoughts start to seep in around the edges of physical discomfort, thoughts like how she doesn't know the first thing about holding down a territory, how she's never made a point of standing her ground before. Thoughts like whether or not to put that word out, or let her continued presence do the talking for her. Thoughts like making sure Samson abides by her edict and gets the fuck outta Baltimore in the next, oh, week. Thoughts like how she'd expected to feel slimier after dealing with him, but how the simple physical grossness of being sweaty and a little smelly just wiped that all away.
Thoughts of Samson, however, drag her back to what he'd said to her about Anansi and Loki, about Benkei.
Neph skids to a final stop on her own rooftop, breath coming hard, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Someone once arranged a folding chair, a round glass-topped table, and a bucket full of gravel up here, and Neph's gotten in the habit of using them. She drops into the chair, wincing as her cold-and-damp sweater sticks to her skin, and fishes out her phone. She thumbs up Whatsapp.
did u seriously break samsons nose?
She doesn't really expect a reply right away. Allomancers keep weird schedules, and last she heard Benkei was also bouncing at a strip club outside of Bethesda. This time of afternoon, she could be asleep or just getting up. But a bubble filled with ellipses pops up almost immediately, prompting Neph to settle back in the chair in tense anticipation.
I fucking well did and I'd do it again. Comes the answer, closely followed by another ellipses-bubble. Why who told you? I thought he'd be too embarrassed to let it slip.
Neph chews on her lip, still breathing hard through her nose. Of course Benkei would assume this was grapevine stuff. Why would she ever think a Pewterarm would threaten a Mistborn twice? Because Samson thought he could bully Neph, because he thought she'd let her fear cage her. He was almost right. Neph picks at the keyboard with less than her usual nimble speed, but it's cold and her fingers are kinda numb.
he did. he tracked me down today
The response is almost instantaneous: I'LL BREAK HIS GODDAMN NECK. I WAS PRETTY CLEAR WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF HE FUCKED WITH YOU AGAIN THAT LITTLE COCKSTAIN.
Capslock all kinda blurs together in that quantity. Neph grips her phone and rereads it twice, something warm stirring inside that has nothing to do with physical exertion. Benkei's always been nice to her, she's always asked if Neph's doing okay, and they work well together. But she's also a bit older, four or five years, enough that her obvious concern had been unwelcome for a long time. Neph had felt like Benkei didn't think she could make it on her own, she'd resented that, but now...well, there's a lot of things out there to watch out for. Things Neph wouldn't wish on a younger girl, either.
thanks B but its fine. i guess A and L both cut him off too and he thought i made them do it
Benkei, having been in this game longer than Neph, immediately gets it. Damn, good for them. Even if they were just watching out for #1, that's decent of them.
Which were basically Neph's thoughts, too. decent of YOU to hit him for me
I am ALWAYS down for punching whiny boys who don't understand the word 'no'. Neph thinks, all in a flash, that those are some very lucky strippers in Bethesda, and then Benkei sends: Do you need backup? Or help hiding a body?
It really says something about her friends that that's everybody's first offer. Lecter'd asked her the same thing. She snorts, hesitates, then writes, no i just told him to gtfo Baltimore
She doesn't think Benkei will need that spelled out for her either, but the ellipses blink for a long stretch of minutes before the reply comes. Holy shit. You sure?
That's a question Neph suddenly suspects she's going to be asking herself a lot in the next few...whatevers. Weeks, months. Years? She can't even imagine herself at twenty, twenty one, never dared think more than a job or two ahead. But now, huddled in her nice new coat, sitting on the roof above her startlingly fancy apartment, with one of her aliases on a lease that could stretch all the way through Hannibal's residency, the future is a slowly whirling galaxy starred with too many possibilities to number. She could get lost in the thought, but she's an open sky. She encompasses, damn it.
yeah, long enough for it to count, anyway, she types.
Good for you too, then.
The smile that breaks over Neph's face almost splits her dry lip. She rubs a line of sweat off her forehead before replying, thanks Benkei. i'll be in touch. Then she pockets her phone, picks the roof door lock, and heads down the stairs. She could swing through one of their windows, but their apartment faces the street and, again: broad daylight.
With her snow delays and her text conversation, Neph's a little surprised to find that she did beat Hannibal (and maybe Will?) back to the apartment. It's a relief to have the place to herself, familiar surroundings promising safety and comfort and support in a way only a private space can. Neph hangs up her jacket, collects some clean clothes from her room, and heads to the bathroom so she can strip out of her sweaty layers and take advantage of the building's hot water supply.
She steps out twenty minutes later in a cloud of vaguely herbal steam (on the off chance Hannibal's still feeling huggy, she figured she'd use his soaps instead of her own aggressively candy-scented stuff), wearing an anonymous white tee that could be either hers or Hannibal's, she honestly doesn't know, and a pair of pajama pants that puddle around her heels. Neph ruffles a towel over her hair before draping it around her neck and cocking her head to listen for the sounds of someone else being home.