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It's another late night in the City That Never Gets a Rest. Jillian's only about twenty-four hours old in this realm but she is learning many things quickly. Most of her time has been spent scouting, 'sniffing about' the place. Searching for things even she isn't sure about. Magic is faint here, but it does still exist.
So far it's led her here.
The evening rain has come and gone, leaving a chill in the air and a wet sheen on the streets which only makes Chinatown that much more colorful and lit despite having no shortage of shadows. None of the normal mortals notice the dark creature who drops from a rooftop onto a fire escape, peering at the commotion down below. She's close to finding whatever it is that's resonating with energy. A personal trinket, perhaps. An heirloom passed along from one oblivious owner to another.
*
From the vantage point of a rooftop, or even a fire escape, on can easily notice there is an individual that's not acting like any others down on the street level. One wearing a wide-brimmed fedora, and somewhat of fancy, 1940s esque attire. Two decades out of date, but maybe now considered a classic style. Unique among the somewhat colorful, and definately individual among the East Asian attires that are prevalent in this area.
Razor's gloved hand reaches out next to him, catching a couple drops of rain. Luckily, most of his clothing could hold out in a heavy downpour anyway for a long time before the water would start eating away at him. And even then that's a slow process, too, so no harm no foul if he's out and about for a hour in it without any protection at all. As long as he dries himself off once he gets indoors. But for now, he simply stops beneath an exit from the back door of a restaurant, the overhang enough to keep him from getting any more water into his clothing for now. He could wait it out.
But his scent. Metallic. Chaotic.
*
Jillian's primary five senses aren't that much different from anyone else's, though it doesn't stop her from using any of them. Everything about this plane is so different, it's an assault upon the senses which requires some evolution on her behalf to overcome. Though while her sense of energy is greater than others, it also isn't necessary for what she's just now discovering.
Oddities are worth paying attention to. When something is out of place, there exists a reason for it.
The dark indigo Neyaphem hops off of the railing and descends with a faint -whoof- of air, wings slowing her descent, landing low in a shallow puddle which splashes lightly upon her contact with the ground. Anyone paying attention would think someone just stepped through a puddle while jogging along, though there isn't much of anything to see…
Nothing except an anomalous shadow, seeming to draw the limited ambient light into it like a localized black hole. The only light escaping it comes from two narrow yellow slits, glowing within the murky gloom.
"You are not of the others," a feminine but decidedly otherworldly voice declares in cool, soft tones.
*
A whoosh of air under bedsheet like apparati, the splash of water with noone there seen jogging (yogging) through the back alleys in a bright track suit, and two small slits of yellow glow.
His own eyes, lifted from under the hat so his face was still mostly hidden in shadow. A door opens across the alley from him, a bag of trash rolls out to sit in the alley and await someone to actually put it in the dumpster. The light hits his face just enough to see a glimmer of what his skin really is, like that of polished metal.
"Yes, but am I the outsider in a world full of commonfolk, or am I what is supposed to be, in a world full of pretenders?" His own voice giving off unique tones true to his.. physicality.
*
"Do not play petty games with me, creature," the darkling warns as those eyes start drifting upward, hovering from around three feet off of the ground to six feet off of the ground. Slow but deliberate steps bring her closer, the shadows almost being toyed with as Jillian moves. There's a glimpse of a deep dark blue mixed in there, and a spindly looking limb trailing from behind.
"This world belongs to those strong enough to claim it. Numbers have little to do with the matter."
As she draws nearer there's a glimmer of polished metal at her side, then the shadows wisp away as though drawn away by an unseen fan. Here stands something unusual, armed with a giant glaive, and very, very blue.
"Do you spend your days lurking about and hiding from their stares?"
*
"I've no need for games." He wasn't hiding himself from this individual. At least not intentionally. The eyes raise to his own eye level, and the corner of his mouth upturns just a little bit. From what he can gather, he still has no idea what this thing is. At least that it's feminine in nature, wielding a bladed polearm, and.. "Is that.. do you have a tail?" His curiosity gets the better of him as he asks this, nearly like a child. He himself is new to the world of wonders beyond humanity for the last week or so, so each new meeting with another nonhuman gives him a bit of a wondrous curiosity about them.
"No. I spend my days sleeping. Nights I lurk about. Not a lot of room for you to talk." A look of her blue persona up and down, but he really can't make out much more than he could before in this dim light of the alleyway.
The hand that's been on his opposite side from her sight this whole time is formed into that favored fashion of a pointy spike, tapering all the way from the elbow out maybe two feet from that joint. The tip escapes the hiding place behind him, probably on purpose anyway.
*
"I hide merely to surprise and confuse. Never out of necessity nor shame," Jillian corrects. Though..she's hesitating now. Just enough to be noticed. This being before her seems made of steel, with a spike for one arm, and yet..youthful curiosity.
The weighted ring of her weapon sets upon the ground with a dull *Tink*, keeping one hand held high upon the pole. Without a word there's a spearpointed tail twisting around from behind her, slowly coiling around the wooden section of the weapon like a snake slowly constricting its morning prey.
Then her hand falls away from it, the two folding loosely in front of herself. Her head stays canted slightly to one side. She's trying to figure out what to make of this fellow, her own curiosity piqued.
"You are familiar with the unusual?" she asks at length. "What is your fascination with it?"
*
"Surprise, yes. Confuse, a little, but that may be that I'm confused as to what exactly you are." Her standing at full height now, and holding the weapon of hers with her own tail is, impressive, to say the least.
As he turns his body to face her, the spike that was on the end of his arm begins to shrink into the sleeve, but before it would ever dissappear, it's formed into the shape of a hand again, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull a glove out, and return it to his hand. "The unusual is me. I am unusual. I am not familiar with myself. More of an unnatural comfort in the presence of things that should worry me." His fear bone must be broken somehow. "And yours with me?" His question more direct about himself, "About how I am not like the others."
*
Here Jillian inclines her head slightly as she regards the metallic one. "I have been to this land for one passing of the star, brief yet sufficient to learn of the mortals which inhabit the realm. They are as careless and ignorant as children, endlessly bumping into one another throughout their trivial pursuits. They are nothing more than mindless cattle, unknowingly awaiting their turn under the blade. But you…" she trails off, yellow slits widening by a small margin as she steps closer. There's no obvious malice in her demeanor. Not anymore.
"You are what they would run from in fear. Throw away like an unwanted scrap. An anomaly of which they do not understand, nor desire to. The greatest asset to any is that which is not expected."
She comes to stand right before the man, faces now inches apart from one another when she presses the question "And what is it you do while you are 'lurking about?'"
*
He looks at her square in the face, but some small bit of attention is diverted to her tail still holding that glaive, though he doesn't take his eyes off of her. He listens to her speak. Does not interrupt, and now right before his own face, inches away, she asks the question. "I eat. I find what I can take for myself. On occasion I let myself do something slightly reckless."
His hand moves to the door right next to them under that light, and he reaches to the doorknob, effortlessly breaking the round part off the door, and taking a bite out of it like an apple, without chewing it's gone from his mouth down to his body soundlessly. "I consume what they use to construct. I occasionally go to the length to see one suffer if the mood strikes me."
*
Eating isn't interesting nor exciting..until Jillian sees just what it is that he's eating. One glowing eyeslit grows notably larger than the other as he effortlessly claims a piece of the door and begins to consume it in a most peculiar fashion. Though there's more to what he says which interests her, on top of his ..most peculiar palate.
"Occasionally," she repeats, almost sounding somewhat ..disappointed? "So you hold no regard to their well-being and claim as you desire. In this it seems we stand upon similar ground."
The indigo Neyaphem turns to her side, peering at the blank wall making up one of the buildings they stand between. Then she looks back to him. "As it stands, that is what brought me here. One nearby is in possession of an item which they should not be. It is about to switch hands. Tell me, creature. Do you have a desire for something 'slightly reckless' this eve?"
*
He's a cynic. It's not like he's completely heartless to the humans, right? Ok, let's not lie. He's taking bites of the steel doorknob while she talks, and he's finished consuming it when she asks if he's up for something reckless.
Without wondering what was in it for him, without asking if he'd be compensated for it, he grins. He hasn't yet met a bullet that could really do a whole lot of damage to him. And this part of town might be more swords and poison arrows. But as previously a human from Russia, he didn't know much about chinese culture anyway. "What you looking for, Blue?" Even his speech patterns are taking up somewhat of a 40s type lingo. And, the nickname he's given to her makes him smile inside.
*
To the nickname given Jillian slowly looks down at herself, as if she might have forgotten that she is, in fact, blue. There are worse things to be called. She's already been called several during her time. That he uses it with a sense of joviality she sees no reason to try and correct him for it.
"I will know it when I see it," is all she can tell him. "It is something which I have never before seen, yet it calls to me like a soul lost to the Abyss. What I do know, is that it can be found..in here," she says while shifting over to rest a three-fingered hand upon the rough brick siding of the building.
The glaive is quickly passed from tail to an awaiting hand. It looks rather heavy. "Come if you desire, Elemental, or be as you were."
A quick step backward from Razor gives her the space she needs to leap upward, back to the second story fire escape. It might seem awkward for someone with wings and a tail to jump through a broken window but she makes it look easy. Both the breaking of said window, and the jumping through it. Already the shop owner inside is on alert.
*
Razor muses with the idea that she doesn't know what it is, or what it looks like, but that it's somehow talking to her from inside the shop.
She busts through the window up on the fire escape. Razor doesn't yet correct the 'Elemental' name she just called him. Issue for later. For right now, he looks up at the fire escape, then sighs. Both gloves into his pockets, and hands into climbing hooks (or at least what he thinks those look like), and he climbs the side of the brick building after her until he can grab and climb up the fire escape to follow her into the building, returning his gloves to his hands while walking after her into.. wherever this leads.
*
The second floor has been turned into a home for the shopkeeper with the store proper downstairs. The item Jillian seeks must not be one of the items for sale, considering it's the bedroom which she wanders into. Then over to the closet. Rather than gently push the door open she grabs the edge of the door with all of six fingers and rips the flimsy wood free of the wall, flinging it onto the bed. That 'calling' must be getting louder as she quickly looks at the closet's offerings, shoving hung-up articles of clothing aside then tearing down a shelf full of other personal effects.
Here's where the shop owner comes in, holding an Oriental dagger which looks authentic enough to be an heirloom of its own. The aged and balding man ducks slightly to reduce his already shorter height even further and points the blade at the first person he sees invading his home.
That'd be Razor.
"You no belong here, this my home! Get out! Get out now!"
That he can still hear his home getting destroyed pulls his attention away from Razor. Just for a second.
*
Razor keeps his head down after Jillian moves into the bedroom. So just on the other side of the wall from the hallway which he is not in, and the owner comes around the corner. Razor steps toward him.
The shopkeeper screams some warcry, pushing the weapon toward Razor. Arm is caught, man punched in the stomach, knife dropped.
Razor is walking away a few moments later, man hanging from wall stud pulled out from the wall by the collar of his shirt, and Razor is looking at the wwII knife in his hands, inspecting it.
He stops, looking at the wall in confusion, becuase it sounds like Jillian is on the other side. Hand through, other hand, pressed apart and through that opening he sticks his head with Fedora tucked under his armpit for safekeeping, "Do you hear it in here?" Not see, because she said earlier she has never seen it.
*
Well, the owner didn't see -that- coming. That rather took the fight out of him, though he's still smouldering with a healthy mixture of fear and rage. For what good either of those things will do for him.
Jillian is having an interesting time in the hunt. The closet is in ruins, though she's managed to uncover a wall safe tucked away in the back. She hesitates for a moment upon seeing it then proceeds by putting a fist through the wall then wrenching the entire safe out.
By comparison to the excavation she's really quite gentle when she sets the safe down upon a ragged looking wooden dresser. Maybe she's trying to be careful of fragile contents..?
Turning to face the Metal-Eater, she inquires "Does your power grant you access to the contents of this box, creature?"
*
Razor plows through the whole wall, picking both drywall and clothing off of himself as he follows Jillian to the dresser now holding the safe. Dusting hismelf off, he answers her question with, "Indirectly, yes."
He'd dealth with these before. "It's only a matter of," and he moves toward it. A hunk of the corner is gone, and he's swallowing it when he lifts his head from it, "Nope, not yet." Another bite out of the thick corner of the safe. When he's through to the inner shell, he delicately forms his hans into variations of tools and small pliers and clams and grippers and cutters and files to open the casing past the lock. Because he's now too close to the inside of it and a bite might accidentally damage the contents.
A *chink* after several minutes, and he removes the inner casing from the outer, setting it next to what's left of the outer casing on the dresser, and taking the ourter casing for himself to sit on the bed (causing it to collapse in on itself, matress sitting on the floor basically) and he's ripping off small pieces like fried potato crisps, watching intently to what she pulls from the inner compartment, that only has a simple latch and door to open. "And you can call me Razor. Elemental was OK, but 'creature' is where I draw the imaginary line, Blue."
*
Well, this is a most peculiar sight to behold. The doorknob was one thing, but there's more to this 'Elemental' than simply making basic shapes with his hands and making doorknobs disappear.
When he helps add to the chaotic state of the bedroom she doesn't seem affected any, though there might be something of a wince when the bed drops out beneath him. He -is- still holding the safe, and its contents.
With the proverbial finish line in sight she idly turns the glaive point-downward and sets it aside by way of driving it into the floorboards, coming closer like a feline cautiously inspecting a juicy but abandoned rat.
Then she stops and gives the guy a funny look. "You are not much of a straight-edged blade, 'Razor.'"
Back to the safe she turns, reaching inside for ..a small carved figurine. Made of -wood.- It looks like it's only worth a quarter of a dollar to some tourist (which means said tourist would pay five bucks and change for it.) Utter junk from all appearances, yet she holds it in her hand like it could shatter with the slightest of breaths, gently tugging the mask away from her face to reveal..a thin smile.
"You have done well, Razor."
*
He continues munching on the pieces he removes of the outer shell looking at her smile. A tilt of his head. "You know, you should keep that mask off more often. Not like anyone around here would recognize you even if they tried. And… what do you mean 'not much of a straight edged blade?'" He asks with some small tone of confusion, looking at her blatantly waiting for her to tell him what she meant by that.
Though he does put another 'chip' of the metal safe into his mouth, it dissappears from existance. This safe is a huge meal for him, would be nicely increasing his physical attributes of strength, weight and other things. But much more would be needed for any real change.
*
"I do not wear it to hide my identity. Where I come from the air is not always so pure high above."
Jillian peers back at him as though he is the one whom has lost his mind. "Your appearance does not in any way suggest 'razor.' The dagger you held a moment ago has more in relation to such a title than you have yet shown me. A razor is sharp. You..are not." The tone in her voice is one of 'do I need to draw you a picture?'
Still, he did help her get what she had come here for. Standing back on the balls of her feet she quickly searches the room, finding and claiming a canvas satchel for herself and her newfound trinket. "It matters little. I thank you for your assistance."
*
Razor stands up, tilting his head to the side for a moment, watching her get the satchel for the small trinket, and he sets down the rest of the safe (there isn't much of it left now), and puts a hand to the small of his back, pulling downward and unsheathing the nearly two foot angular shaped meat cleaver, turning it from side to side a couple times with his hand.
"This is what I used when I got that name. So I kept it." Like a 'no picture needed, here's my crayon'.
He would put it back if she weren't so interested in it that she'd want to look at it. But his attention would go back to the safe in a few moments. "You're welcome, Blue." He at least had manners to nonhumans. So he's got that going for him.
*
Razor shrugs at that. "Oh well, pick a new name to call me then." He steps over to the window, and with the old world war II knife in his hand, he puts it into his jacket pocket, and steps out the window to head his own way after she was out. Watching her leave, whatever direction it is, he says low, "Maybe they will." And he's got his hat back on, and reassimilating into the crowd of people out on the street in Chinatown Proper.
