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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2014 7:39:54 GMT -5
Time had always assumed its fleeting presence in pleasurable company, and the same could be said about his current life. Astor had been to many places, had seen many pleasant, and unpleasant, occurrences. Yet presently, while he had resolved to settle here momentarily, at an amusing little spot where he could feel at home, Astor was assured that his stay could easily be prolonged. Having been employed for a week at the Avian Dreams, he still likened the place to a dream, all right.
After all, he had no home to return to, not now, at least. Besides, Winter had taken extreme care to make him feel at home, to make him feel comfortable. Astor could nearly sense that her sweetness originated not from having found a good-natured shopkeeper, but he had not been able to distinguish the subtle source.
This recollection of 'home' had always sent a quivering of moths up his spine, heart-deadening voices of history diffusing from his bones towards his sentience. All of hell had broken loose more than a decade ago, yet years of repressed rage and raw anguish had embalmed his former self into a nightly armor, a self-sacrificing warrior, Phantom–which brought his wandering mind to the ticking clock. He had been tailing a particularly challenging case of kidnapping since a week ago, and he was thirsting to finally capture those outlaws.
"Find us and we'll kill you," were the words hissed by the gang leader through the icy stillness of the night, on top of the tall towers holding a kilometer-long suspension bridge. "Sure," Aston thought to himself, "If it means the girl is safe. Anyway, it will be fun."
For the time being, the sun-bronzed pavement told him it was time to close up shop. He made sure to check the inventory of birds, taking great care to remember each of them by name–his simple passion for these winged creatures had maintained his sanity throughout his years, and he was glad to return the favor by knowing them as his friends. Upon checking and cleaning up, Astor stepped excitedly amidst the squawking, chattering flock of exotic avians, from the storeroom at the back of the shop, towards its aquiline glass doors; before he heard a sweet voice rang across the room. Her voice was growing comfortably familiar on him.
Astor turned his back and returned her smile. "I doubt you will be surprised, Winter, but a family did purchase, well, half a dozen Lovebirds, a pair of Toucans, a cageful of canaries and four Cockatoos. Large. Makes me wonder about the identities of family pets nowadays," Astor replied as he turned towards the doors, locking them to safety. He checked the locks once, twice, thrice. Safe.
"And I'm fine, as always, thank you," Astor said nicely, hoping Winter did not notice his compulsion with locks. There were more to name, than simply locks, although nothing life-threatening. "Everything's nearly ready, except the gross shipment of Golden Orioles from Bulgaria. Would you like to track them once again, just to make sure those are safe?"
Astor stepped slowly towards the counter, towards Winter, holding her laurel-eyed gaze steady with his earnest smile.
@winter
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Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2014 9:40:35 GMT -5
Amidst the enlivened fleet and flutter of colored wings, Astor began to hear the bare excitement in her words, stringed into clear crystals ringing through the room. In her presence, those wings seemed about to burst into flight, an upsurge of energy flooding the palace of feathers. He was observant of many things, even with a keenness bordering on mechanical; yet somehow, beauty had always eluded his incisive grasp, perhaps for the ancient truth that it was meant to be slowly savored, to last through eternity. Drifting along these turbulent tributaries of life, a thing of beauty kept him still, until he would finally breathe quietly and sleep sweetly. Astor realised then, that her sincere fervency was a precious thing to behold.
He was not used to hearing compliments; all he had gathered through the years was snarls, or the bollocks of the criminals he dealt with nightly. Hearing her praises, Astor could only respond with a heartfelt smile, unsure of how else to react. Perhaps it was her exquisiteness which transiently drained the words from his mind, or perhaps the rough years which had drawn out his inherent ability to return a compliment. In humbleness, Astor could admit that he was capable, and that he loved the job as much as did Winter. Yet either way, he was grateful for Winter having allowed him this job.
Astor heard her reply regarding the shipment. "Oh– Didn't mean to be a skeptic, Winter," he replied, one hand reaching up to his sable hair, disheveling it unconsciously. "It's simply wanting to make sure everything goes smoothly, and they are safe." Hope she would understand. Offering her his smile, he continued, "And I really look forward to tomorrow. Night, Winter, you deserve a good rest." After a long day of work, Astor thought that wanting a well-deserved rest was only sensible for Winter, yet she mentioned her need to complete some errands for the night. He dared not cross the boundaries of professionalism, not intruding on her private matters being one of the criteria. Yet out of genuine concern, he said hesitantly, "Take care of yourself, alright? I'll see you tomorrow." He watched as she stepped towards the door, harmlessly disappearing into the space behind.
Before he stepped behind the counter to briefly square up his administrative tasks for the day, Astor took care not to leave any unnoticed details behind. He looked the store over, once again, and found that it revealed nothing uncanny.
Astor was beginning to feel the worries of the night settling in, which happened every night before his pursuits, at the back of his head. Truthfully, he had never felt his life mundane, much less meaningless. Every night would always bring him new elation, for a different reason than that of a religious zealot, but for the rush of strength he had always felt in his deeds. Rescuing lives, saving people, fighting for justice.
He closed the drawer, having placed the logs inside, took out his wand and locked it. Once, twice, thrice. Had someone known Astor well enough, he would know that Astor could do nothing to stop it, at least not presently.
All was fine.
But not outside.
Not where Astor could see an innocent two-years-old girl being held hostage by a notorious ring of kidnappers. They had been cautious not to leave a trail, or visible clues, or traceable routines. Each had been ruthlessly executed, and each kidnapping had had different modus operandi, except that all the victims had been drugged – with the unfailing precision of an anesthetist – with psychotropic agents, reducing them into blabbering, hallucinating fools. But in the quiet, dark basement, Astor could see that the girl was perfectly conscious, her soiled face etched with unseen fear and endless tremors.
He gritted his teeth as he devised an escape plan. Getting into the mansion was easy for himself, but to carry her safely without making a sound? It had to be foolproof, or he would risk her safety. There had to be at least a dozen of them, Astor guessed, which was why he had preferred to salve her in stealth. He would not confront them–yet. Not tonight.
This little girl, Astor predicted accurately. He knew the internal workings of the monomaniacal criminals, he could almost feel their pleasure upon seeing her mortified by terrors, upon injecting her tiny mind with traumas greater than it could bear. Astor approached her cautiously, holding out his two unarmed hands as he offered his softest smile of assurance. " I'm not going to harm you. I'm a friend, okay? Name's Phantom." He stepped closer. " But you can call me Astor. I promise you that we're getting out, alright. But promise me, you'll not scream." He carried her light frame up the wooden steps, brittle boards awaking with light creaks as the slightest movement touched them. He chose to not use magic to silence them, not where magic could still be pended. Astor listened closely for signs of life upstairs. Deciding that there was none, he took his chance and moved quicker towards refuge, towards the cold, open breath of street air. @winter (Sorry! Couldn't think of an event to directly bring them together with one post, or perhaps I could ramble on and make a novel, but Merlin forbids! >.< Perhaps Winter could write her own adventure and we'll see them converging? )
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2014 3:37:29 GMT -5
At the ground level, yellow lights droned and blinked uncomfortably above his head; darkness coexisting intermittently with the dimness. Phantom cradled the emaciated frame in quietness, carrying on through rooms and doors, and he reached the long recess of a hallway. Crack. A floorboard fractured, riddled into wooden nothingness by the riptide of bullets. A second furious wave of deadly slugs sputtered without a pause, fires tearing through air by his right ear, their screams deafening his senses. He ducked with a start, his mind suddenly set on fire; yet he was unafraid. If anything, he was calling out his thoughts, strategizing that next manoeuvre to safeness, the perfect stratagem to victory; all within less than a heartbeat. Just another night at work, though he knew that no two adventures were ever quite the same. He calculated two men from his standing, based on the directionality of the bullets and the singular sequence of their flight paths. In confirmation, a threatening sense of an attacker lurching forward, ready to assault, blared. Holding the girl in his left arm; with a sharp, precise twist, Astor struck the unknowing man with his free fist, catching him unaware by the neck. A scream. At the surprise blow, the man yelped with a muffled grunt; his eyes transiently like those of a fish, his veins protruding with each invisible needle coursing through, unable to shrink. He reeled towards the wall, throat clutched; drowned into unconsciousness as a life-sized Dantesque canvas thudded his head, as if by magic. Phantom clenched his teeth and looked on at the broken criminal with disdain through his silver mask. That large blunt weapon had innocently hung itself back on the mural, by the next second. Astor placed the girl, utterly shocked now, down gently on the undamaged parquet; motioning for her to stay. At a distance, rapid footfalls chased after another; tension strung higher with the clacks growing louder; until they stopped at the entrance of the hallway. He caught wind of a faint, burning smell and then, silence. Silence after the storm, one that would never again presage peace. He could bear noises thundering from every which way, but not silence. To him, silence had never been his friend, always disconcerting and unnerving. Terrifying. Profusely, thoughts of adrenaline spoke within his mind. The substance rushed breathlessly through his system; constricting the deep, dark irises, dilating the aperture within; flying fiercely through his arteries and veins. He craved for more. Inching closer, ready to strike, he held his breath between his lungs, sensing the smell becoming more intense. Gun.
With a quiet sweep, he moved swiftly into the darkened space of the kidnapper and pressed his right arm harshly against the man's trachea, prying his fingers loose to disarm the firearm. It fell on the wooden floor heavily as he expertly squeezed his consciousness away. "Unsophisticated thugs," he thought quickly, "not those I wanted to pursue... But lives are saved tonight." He rushed toward the girl he had left, breaking free of the entrapment of the house. His guise removed, Astor ran towards the nearest police station and watched from the distance as the girl talked to the 'Detectives' and 'Inspectors'. She would tell them where the kidnappers were, and hopefully, justice would prevail. "Muggles have such complicated names to cope with what lack of inabilities they have," wondered Astor. He felt the cool breeze touch his skin. Taking in his surroundings from the corner of his eyes, Astor stepped into a darker, deserted alley and put his guise back on; a polished silver mask to conceal his identity, and a slate-grey full-bodied suit, both on which he was casting an elaborate series of Disillusionment Charm. He nearly completed his routine, one more charm to render the armour last through the entire night; when a shrill perforated the night like a cry for help, a sound of distress only his goshawk ears could hear; but it was too loud and clear to be passed off as that of the common bird. Furthermore, it rang... different. Almost familiar. Turning his hawk head toward the origin, he resolved to act first and think later. Gliding below the greyed clouds, he searched for the source, sending out his own calls back for answer. Astor's senses awakened as he spotted a vicious band of men surrounding and closing in on a girl, who was holding a man hostage at gun point. No hesitation, now. Spill blood if you must. Astor had despised bloodbaths to the core, but when lives were at stake, he had to force himself to the extremes. Instantly, he swooped two of the men down with the incisive edges of his beak and claws, causing enough injury to render them harmless; attacking with such precision to avoid splashes of blood on himself. Screams stabbed through the thick night air like knives. He flew straight past the band, into the darkness where he could transfigure back into his human form and wear his suit. With each stealthy jab and slam, each man was rendered harmless and helpless; without the phantom ever revealing his true nature of invisibility. Who is she? He fought on, until he was halfway through clearing the ferocious mass of dark punks, until the threatening current of crowd seemed to have ebbed.
Little did he know, that the call had come from the woman. And little did he know, that she was very much like him.
Magical. THANK YOU MALIA TATE FROM ADOXOGRAPHY
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Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2014 7:51:51 GMT -5
"At the foot of the ash heap I lay, awaiting your speech." @winter ----------------------------------------------------Sizing up the brood of shrikes, his Animagus eyes scanned the area quickly; fists and kicks targeting each black-clad criminal within his reach. With each incisive step, he marked his victim down; each of them a calculated stroke of its own, full of life and intent. This is more important than a bird's shrill of help. Ten..
Counting down. One enemy, ten seconds. With a free arm, he reached in an arc over his head, another storming the hardness of his elbow at his assailant's guts; two feet pressed firmly upon the asphalt to provide a momentum for his pivot, and for what he was about to do next.
Eight seconds.
Twisting sharply to face the thug, semi-crouched in his evasive motions; he slammed his right hand towards the ground, spinning a slanting heel-kick at his opponent's face.
Meia-Lua de compasso.
Seven.
While the man was teetering on the verge of consciousness, Astor delved quickly into the depths of his mind; only briefly enough to know what he was a part of, what he was doing and if the girl was somehow his associate. He needed to know whom he was assisting.
Black Ring.
A pathetic grunt.
A major heist.
Not associa—
A clear shot rang across the night sky.
His instincts turned him to look at the girl, hazarding his failure to assist the lone girl standing amid the aggressive hoodlums. Perhaps she is not badly hurt, perhaps the shot has missed. He stopped in his pursuits, large eyes looking through the distance; taking in the scattered lights of the dark with exceptional binocularity. Winter? Whatever the shot had pierced through, it was not her, for she was still standing alive and fighting her way through the thickening mass towards him; each frame becoming clearer that it was indeed her. But the shot came from her direction, it can't be, that she shot her captive and wiped it off just as suddenly ..
Black blood pooled around the fallen figure of a man.
Had he known the danger that man was in, he would have gone towards her immediately. Criminals as they were, Astor never believed in death as their instant absolution; or perhaps the fact spoke of a deeper meaning found in his lifetime past.
Flashes of half-forgotten memories burdened his thoughts, the smell of copper burning more tangible against the cages of his mind. Blood. Blackened.
Thick as tar.
Regaining his stance after the shock in the nick of time, he fended off as many remaining survivors, this time faster, knowing that the number of foes they had were not lessening. He was too preoccupied to wreck his head for an explanation to this extreme coincidence. No, he would never leave a leeway for anything, not even exhaustion; while engaging in physical combats. He thrived in them. He was trained, made to be in them.
Bullets riddled through the air once, twice, thrice more.
He noticed how determined she was to approach him, how elegantly and unpredictably she moved through the midst of black hunters. When she called out to him, he knew that she was the source of the call. He gathered that she was very much like him, an Animagus. Unafraid. Relentless. A fighter. ..Contentious.
Though, the same girl I know..
Something rang off in his inner thoughts, something familiar; yet too unbelievable to be recognised. Yes, she's right. Escape, Astor. Think later. He could feel the heat rising, until it was strong enough to render the night a little unusual than any other. Winter..? Warm air breathed around him, surrounded by broken bodies and muffled groans. His adrenaline was still coursing bravely through his veins; relentless to bring his manoeuvres to a stop.
Amid the tricks and sideswipes of appendages, he caught sight of the girl taking aim in his direction; but not at him. Her sight, he sensed, is equally sharp as his, and it was directed at what was behind him. Turning to focus on her target, he spotted an unmasked fire-armed criminal; Astor in the direct line of sight of his weapon. Too far. Fly? Too late. She's going to shoot him.
Blazing forward, making sure that he was fast enough; he brought her into hiding behind the sleek, silver-polished building of a Muggle Bank. It was their fortress now. His ragged breaths battered against the concrete walls, his mind perusing his memory castle for the organisation in question. Black Ring.. Sounds strangely alike to White Ring. The kidnappers.
Thinking fast, he motioned her to escape and follow him to safety, to an abandoned, dilapidated house that he had magically transfigured to store his arsenal of armory, his training ground. Astor morphed back into his Animagus form, braving the night wind to disappear in the grey clouds. He did not speak throughout the entire ordeal, unwilling to betray his true identity to the girl captor he was assisting.
Or stopping.
He was unsure.
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