pastel prince ; phan

xx; three in the morning

xx; three in the morning

Three in the morning, and his heart was pounding.  Three in the morning and he was wearing Kelvar, smelling like oil and grease, smelling of the motorcycle he'd rode and the cologne that was faintly smudged on his armour. Three in the morning, and he wasn't asleep, but perched on a rooftop and watching the streets.

Three in the morning, and there was a girl next to him, doing the same thing. Less visible armour, though, more leather jackets and what seemed to be tight black spandex pants. She was quiet too, able to be silent and able to watch the city with such concentration. She seemed to be in state of mind that was impossible for her to break out of, impossible to lend that sort of thing to anything else, couldn't even spare any time to look at him. But then she did, leaned forward and pointed, passing the grappling hook to him.

He grabbed her around the waist with one arm, shot with the other, and they swung off into the night. When they hit the ground, Nightkiller planted her feet down, raising a bō staff.  

"So, what martial art style did you learn for that?" Asked the man beside her, the one without a name for his terrible decision to enable a vigilante, and become one himself. "Can't you use it in Kung Fu or something?" 

The girl looked over to him, and her mouth curved into a grin, but it wasn't amused. It was mischievous, impish, and everything Dan hadn't wanted to see that early in the morning. So he turned away, and he heard her say: "Bōjutsu, actually." She moved the staff in her hands, twirled it as if it was magical instead of a brutal weapon, and cleared her throat. "See anyone?"

Dan pulled a gun from the holster, and he felt his arms shake as he held it up, looking around. "One person," He mused under his breath, and pointed it to the ground, where he saw the Devil. "There."

"He's all yours." Nightkiller offered quietly, and she watched him drop down to a garbage can with his armoured boots, and then he leaped off and pointed it to the Devil. He was quiet for a moment, and then he let his face form to a scowl, eyebrows narrowing over his eyes. He had a mask though, and he didn't waver this time.

"Devil," He said loudly, hardly menacing, but an attempt at it. "Step down." 

Looking continuously furious, The Devil never backed down. He lifted the gun he had and he narrowed his eyes, looking more ready to shoot than the other man was. "You should step down, kiddo, the city is a hard place." He announced, almost too loudly, sounding too intimidating.

"Kiddo?" Dan echoed in a horrendously bitter way, and lifted his fists. "Let's fight."

But then a shot fired, and Dan jerked to the side, grabbed for the entrance wound. "My shoulder!" He snarled, and raised his gun, shooting twice at Phil. The man crumpled to his knees and fell forward, so obviously dead.

Dan ran up, to check his pulse, but he swore there wasn't one.

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isnt this exciting