Arrowette's Graffiti Caper

Arrowette's Graffiti Caper

Arrowette flew around the corner so quickly that her feet barely kept contact with the ground. Skirt fluttering, eyes narrowed, she looked directly up and on the fire escape spotted the teenage ragamuffin who'd been tagging the outer walls of a nearby bank.

"Hey!"

Her eyebrow quirked. And you expect him to stop just 'cause you asked nice? She mentally kicked herself and leapt upwards, gripping the bottom rung of the fire escape ladder and ascending it effortlessly. The shady little punk was already nearing the top; he tumbled out of sight to the roof and she followed close behind. Still, something about the chase always made her attempt the kind of cheesy banter her pseudo-superheroine mother had practically grilled into her. She grunted as she spoke, launching herself up the ladder in hot pursuit.

"All right, then -- we can go up to the roof, but start singing anything from West Side Story and I'm going to have to say: Go straight to therapy -- do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars..."

Launching into a somersault at the top of the ladder, Arrowette posed, bow in hand and already prepared to fire. A pause. Damnit, where did he go. Of course, no one was ever looking when she did anything particularly "bad-ass". "Sigh. I have things to do, okay. I have, you know, better things to do than chase juvy delinquents around rooftops. I have friends. And stuff." Hands on her hips, Arrowette looked around sullenly. No sign of the kid. "All right, that's it. COME OUT. NOW. I'm not thinking you can fly, so you're here hiding somewhere. The longer you hide, the more I get to punch you when I find you."

The sound of fabric rustling to the northwest perked up her ears. As if on instinct, she let loose an arrow. A cry, not of pain but of surprise, shattered the evening silence. "Ah. And might I add, ha."

Arrowette waltzed across the rooftop, pushing aside a stack of cardboard boxes. There was her street-punk, pinned by his collar to the brick smokestack behind him. He was dressed in tatty street clothes, cap on sideways, muscles that probably came from too many fights in a crappy neighborhood. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. She felt a twinge of guilt. But hey. It's not like graffiti earns him any money, so don't go soft on him, Cici.

"Glad you decided to join us," she said, somewhat more amicably, lowering her bow. "You didn't have to run, you know."

The kid gave up trying to free himself from the arrow, smirking as she reached down to pull it out of the wall. "I wouldn'ta run if you hadn't been waving that thing at me, girly."

Arrowette glanced down at her bow, turning a slight shade of red as the arrow came free. She slipped it back into her quiver, stepping back to give the kid his distance. "Yeah, well. Vandalism isn't exactly up there for me with brown paper packages tied up with strings, if you know what I mean."

The street-punk straightened his collar, stood up, and stared blankly back at her. The red-clad heroine rolled her eyes.

"Nevermind. Look. Do it again and I'll find your Mama and tell her you've been autographing things you weren't s'posed to. Got it?" Re-attaching the bow to its clip on her back, she adopted a motherly pose and put her hands on her hips. "Now run home. And for God's sake, if you're going to vandalize things, bring a damn dictionary."

Thankful for the pardon, the kid pounced on the fire escape and slid out of sight.

The blonde stood for a moment, taking in the complete lack of stars (thank you, light pollution). The sky lit up for miles all around, an almost shocking hue of pink. Neon, almost. She slipped a hand into her tousled hair and tousled it further, hoping to achieve something more Cameron Diaz than street urchin. "I have got to get a hobby. Or some books." She looked at the open palm of her hand, staring blankly. "Or something."

She peered over the ledge and watched the boy run in a direction she presumed (or maybe, hoped) was home. I oughta be gettin' home, too. She thought of Cassie. Her heart tingled a little. Gah. Cease and desist, heart. I only have one of you, and I can't afford for you to go gettin' all silly on me. She chose, though, to lower herself to the ledge and sit, just for a minute or two. Her legs swinging off the edge of the roof, Arrowette stopped to ponder the word, "home".

Home... She wrinkled her nose. No matter what people say, I know what it is.

...Home is a person.