Post by Typhoid on Oct 26, 2009 22:32:08 GMT -5
It was quiet at night, and too quiet for even Typhoid's taste. At another time, the silence would have made her assume everyone was dead, the lack of heartbeats in her mind a frightening silence. As it was, she knew everyone was alive, knew they slept, knew that alarms would already have been sounded by people more vigilant then she was if something had come in the night to take lives. It didn't stop the eerie feeling from persisting, even though the night wasn't that far along.
She'd turned into a night owl again, she realized grimly, after only a few days without powers. It wasn't unexpected; she'd often wandered at night on the streets, finding it safer to move under darkness, when the streets were empty and she was less likely to be caught stealing her food. It was odd how people assumed old habits when they felt threatened. And the whole world was a threat to Typhoid at the moment.
Rossignol. My name is Rossignol. She'd tried to stop referring to herself by her code name. She wasn't that person anymore, wasn't that power. A fleeting temptation to take her middle name of Lea and make it her first name had occurred to her, but she hadn't, after some thought. Pietro knew her by Rossignol, it was the name her sister had known. She couldn't pull away from her past that completely, not in favor of a history she hated, even if it was only in the form of something as simple as a name. Rossignol it was.
She'd gone downstairs to the basement, ostensibly heading towards the lab until she took another turn and headed towards the Danger Room. Tron would probably kill her for hacking his own computer, but she needed to fight alone, to not be monitored for once like a test rat in a cage, and for that she needed the pass codes to the Danger Room she knew he had, even if he didn't admit to it. A part of her said that the Professor would have led her down here himself and left her to her own devices as she wished, but she didn't want him involved. He didn't know, not yet. And it wasn't something she was prepared to talk about. At the moment, she simply felt fortunate to have even gotten into Tron's room at all without being noticed.
Her knives balanced in their leg holsters. She wore no coat, no gloves, nothing but straight black- boots, pants, everything. The affectations were pointless now, remnants of something she no longer possessed. She felt numb, but she had to try to begin again. This was the first step.
It took long minutes for her to figure out how to program the Danger Room; it had always been done for her, or she'd gone by a preset program designed to let her use her power periodically, as she'd had to before. This was harder, starting from scratch to create a program not designed to test powers, simply for hand to hand. She made something basic, one opponent in a city street setting.
The setting materialized- a long alleyway, a Dumpster in one corner, the buildings lining the alley with brick and rusted fire escapes. Her opponent stood in front of her- she'd armed him only with a sword and a variable skill set. He didn't look like anyone in particular, his face was pulled from a standard set of features already programmed into the computer.
The program signaled it's readiness, and her opponent advanced on her, his sword drawn. She drew her knives, and ran at him screaming a battle cry.
She'd turned into a night owl again, she realized grimly, after only a few days without powers. It wasn't unexpected; she'd often wandered at night on the streets, finding it safer to move under darkness, when the streets were empty and she was less likely to be caught stealing her food. It was odd how people assumed old habits when they felt threatened. And the whole world was a threat to Typhoid at the moment.
Rossignol. My name is Rossignol. She'd tried to stop referring to herself by her code name. She wasn't that person anymore, wasn't that power. A fleeting temptation to take her middle name of Lea and make it her first name had occurred to her, but she hadn't, after some thought. Pietro knew her by Rossignol, it was the name her sister had known. She couldn't pull away from her past that completely, not in favor of a history she hated, even if it was only in the form of something as simple as a name. Rossignol it was.
She'd gone downstairs to the basement, ostensibly heading towards the lab until she took another turn and headed towards the Danger Room. Tron would probably kill her for hacking his own computer, but she needed to fight alone, to not be monitored for once like a test rat in a cage, and for that she needed the pass codes to the Danger Room she knew he had, even if he didn't admit to it. A part of her said that the Professor would have led her down here himself and left her to her own devices as she wished, but she didn't want him involved. He didn't know, not yet. And it wasn't something she was prepared to talk about. At the moment, she simply felt fortunate to have even gotten into Tron's room at all without being noticed.
Her knives balanced in their leg holsters. She wore no coat, no gloves, nothing but straight black- boots, pants, everything. The affectations were pointless now, remnants of something she no longer possessed. She felt numb, but she had to try to begin again. This was the first step.
It took long minutes for her to figure out how to program the Danger Room; it had always been done for her, or she'd gone by a preset program designed to let her use her power periodically, as she'd had to before. This was harder, starting from scratch to create a program not designed to test powers, simply for hand to hand. She made something basic, one opponent in a city street setting.
The setting materialized- a long alleyway, a Dumpster in one corner, the buildings lining the alley with brick and rusted fire escapes. Her opponent stood in front of her- she'd armed him only with a sword and a variable skill set. He didn't look like anyone in particular, his face was pulled from a standard set of features already programmed into the computer.
The program signaled it's readiness, and her opponent advanced on her, his sword drawn. She drew her knives, and ran at him screaming a battle cry.
