The Gargoyles Watch


Hell's Kitchen - NYC - Outside the Serenity Crisis Center



Despite the weather and the hour, Red is standing outside the Serenity Crisis Center. Normally, one would expect an individual leaning comfortably against the wall to be either smoking, or panhandling. Red, however, is doing neither. Instead, her arms are folded loosely over her torso and her face is turned skyward in what appears to simply be the posture of one enjoying the cooler weather. Mind you, the Crisis Center is still open and there are people both entering and leaving and a few milling about inside and out. All in all, it appears to be a pretty typical night given the circumstances.

Apple wanders up to the crisis center, looking nervous, but not unfamiliar with the place. She pauses and gives Red a nod and a brief smile. "Looks like it's going to be a nice night," she observes quietly.

The door to the crisis center swings open, and a skinny, tattooed hispanic guy backs out of it, thrusting his finger accusingly as spittle flecks his lips, "…this is BULLSHIT, ese! You can't keep me from my bitch, I'll be back, and my friends—"
The rant is promptly cut short as a stool is hurled through the door and slams into his face, causing him to stumble back with a startled grunt-cry of pain, spitting a bit of blood and a cracked tooth as he cradles his face with one hand, eyes widening in shock. At this point, Wolfgang steps fully into the doorway, lifts one hand and cracks his knuckles with the other, the beady, gleaming eyes of his coat's many furred and scaled faces glaring, tiny teeth chattering and snapping though the human sees none of it. Still, the punk twists and turns his stumble into a run, loping off down the street.
The Beast grunts, and then reaches into his coat, pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. He slaps it against his palm once, twice, and then draws one cancer stick out, holding it over in Red's - and Apple's - direction in mute inquiry, unlit-end first. Expression? Never changes.

"It does," Red agrees readily. Slanting a belated glance at Apple, dark eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles, crimson hued curls whispering over her shoulders as she inclines her head toward the door. "You're welcome to go inside, if you like. I believe there is still some food left over, if you are feeling peckish."
Red's smile, however, fades when the hispanic man comes out of the crisis center hurling threats back toward the building. With the fading of her smile, laugh lines turn to frown lines and Red's eyes narrow slightly. Fortunately, a stool cuts the tirade off and brings the smile back to her lips. "Promises to be a quiet night, as well," she asides with no small amount of amusement toward Apple. As Wolfgang emerges, Red exhales a quiet laugh, her brows twitching in a playful expression as she flashes him a pleased wink.
"You know I don't smoke, Wolfgang, but thank you all the same." Shifting in her lean against the wall in unspoken invitation, she slants a glance back toward the Crisis Center one brow arching in inquiry. "I see Hector tried to visit Maria, again. You'd think he'd know better by now. She's alright, yes?"

Apple seems quite unnerved by the violence as she shrinks against the wall. She begins to bite her already ragged nails, her eyes flicking from Red to Wolfgang to the retreating Latino. "Oh…Oh my." She seems to be having second thoughts about entering the place.

An affirmative grunt answers the question from the flower-draped girl beside the door, and Wolfgang tucks the cigarette into the corner of his mouth; drawing out a zippo, he flicks it open with a quick motion of his thumb, bringing flame to tobacco and taking a few quick puffs. The dented, embossed lighter is tucked back away, and he brings the cigarette away from his mouth in one hand, letting it drop to his side before his gaze drops to the features of the girl shrinking away.
"S'a'ight," he rumbles out, turning his attention back across the street with the appraising eye of the moderately paranoid, before stepping over and reaching down to lift the stool by one leg. Then he vanishes back into the center for a moment.

Noting Apple's uneasiness, Red affords the girl a reassuring smile. "Wolfgang is not likely to eat you," promises. "Unless," she adds. "You mean harm to one of our charges." At 'charges', she tilts her head toward the Crisis Center door, one hand raising to brush corkscrew curls back over her shoulders. "Hector," she provides by way of explaination. "Seems to think that we will stand by and allow him to beat his girlfriend. He is sadly mistaken I am afraid."
As Wolfgang gathers up the stool and brings it back inside, Red gives a faint shake of her head, another quiet laugh spilling past her lips. "His bark is much worse then his bite," she assures. "Really."

It takes a few more moments for Wolfgang to make his reappearance on the street, his head shaking slowly from side to side as he walks back out onto the sidewalk, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips and taking a long drag upon it, orange-red flaring to burn paper and tobacco to ash before he exhales a greyish cloud of coiling smoke. No words, however, just keeping his eye on the street.

"Intimidating would-be abusers," Red provides helpfully. "Definately not the easiest of tasks." Dipping her chin in an easy nod, she turns another calm smile on Apple, the expression clearly reaching her eyes. "Wolfgang is very, very good at convincing would-be-bullies that they are not the biggest the monster in the wood." As the topic of the conversation reemerges, Red affords him a relaxed smile, her shoulders rising and falling in another calm shrug as she refolds her arms over her torso. "Mind you, he isn't terrible verbal most of the time."

A brief grin curves to Wolfgang's lips that reveals a glimpse of one yellow-white canine, a tooth that's entirely not human in its appearance, before the grin fades once more to allow him to take a slow drag upon the cancer-stick held between two fingers. After he exhales another cloud of stirring grey smoke, he rumbles from deep in his chest, "…everyone's got their place."
A flick of thumb to cigarette causes ashes to spill away on the wind, smoldering motes fading orange to black, dancing amidst a dry yellow-red leaf that rustles through the air and then crumbles away on the wind.

Red's brown eyes cut sharply toward Wolfgang when he speaks, her smile fading to a cooler smirk as she allows, "Indeed." Fortunately, she regains her composure as she turns her gaze back to Apple and smiles, one shoulder rising and falling in a casual shrug. "Intimidation doesn't revolve solely around size. But then, I've never been one to engage such activities, so."

Apple smiles briefly at Red before shooting a wary glance at Wolfgang. "I must agree with you, miss. Violence and intimidation aren't what I dabble in, but it does work for many. Pie-makers, for instance." She gives a slight shrug, shotting a quick glance around the surrounding street.

"Nnh." A low grunt from Wolfgang at the mention of pies, a glance slanted sharply in Apple's direction as the cigarette braced between two clawed fingers hand pauses an inch from his lips. "Heard some things. True?" As he waits for the response, his brows raise a bit further, taking a slow drag upon his cancer-stick.

"Red, please. And, of course, Wolfgang." The offered names are accompanied with a marginal inclination of Red's head, one brow twitching slightly as she inquires, "And yourself?" At the mention of pie-makers, Red grimaces mildly, a flicker of distaste darting over features at the less the agreeable topic change. It is in response to Wolfgang's query that she murmurs. "I certainly hope not."

Apple shrugs and says, "I did get an odd-tasting pie yesterday…Odd, certainly not rhubarb, but…well, I was told that this pie-maker was philanthropic so I thought I'd stop by." She shrugs again and seems rather distracted for a moment, then twitches, almost a jump, and adds belatedly, "Apple…I'm Apple."

"Not Apple Pie," Wolfgang observes in dark comedy, lips splitting again in a very toothsome smile for a moment as he regards the be'wing'd woman, "One hopes, not now or soon." The remnants of the cigarette are ground out against the palm of his fingerless gloves then, ash smeared over leather as he shakes his head slowly, "…no pies here."

There's a brief rustling sound overhead, a shadow passing over the group and then it's quickly gone. Then there's the sound of some clanging, on the fire escapes perhaps, and the shadow leaps back and forth from one building's fire escape to the other in a nearby alley, getting just low enough to make out a human like form, but not close enough to see any details. Then a voice, a low quivering child-like timbre, and male. The voice is scratchy, as if it hasn't been used in some time, "H…hello?"

"Very nice to meet you, Apple." Is Red's response. On the topic of pies, however, she does her level best not to grimace. Sadly, she fails miserably. So much so that the expression is coupled with a mild shudder of revulsion a sigh of distaste. Wolfgang's assurance gains a dip of her chin in a nod of accord, Red's lips twitching in an attempt at a smile in response both to Wolfgang's 'joke' and the mention of no pies being present here. "We do have soup, however, and some sandwiches." At the rustle overhead, Red's eyes sweep upward, her brows furrowing as she attempts to follow the sound only to lose it shortly thereafter. It is in response to the offered 'hello' that she pushes off the wall and squints toward the barely seen form. "Good evening," Pause. "Are you alright?" There is, mind you, something in her tone that borders on wariness and should, one hopes, serve as a 'nudge' of sorts to Wolfgang.

Apple begins to answer Wolfgang with a hesitant smile, "I had thought it might be too good a prospe…" She jumps and moves closer to Wolfgang when the new voice speaks, apparently more willing to risk his proximity than an unknown somebody.

At the voice from above, Wolfgang's shoulders tense slightly as he stills entirely for a moment, then slowly tucks the stub of a cigarette away before bringing his chin slowly upwards, his eyes and the blood-shot gaze of the goat's-head hood of his patchwork coat moving towards the shadows of the alleyway's fire escapes. No words, however, apparently trusting Red's inquiry to satisfy those requirements.

"I'm fine, fine. Thank you, thank you." The voice pauses again, for a long time, as if trying to remember words long forgotten. "It is pleasant to meet you. I'm sorry, I've been up on the rooftops for a while, It's been ages since I spoke to someone. Especially three someones who look…so interesting." Then a face appears, barely sticking out of the shadows into the night-time street lights, a face that doesn't appear to be Changeling. It appears to be human, fingers coming into the light as well, gripping the bars of the fire escape, "I need help, finding my bird."

As the human seeming being comes more clearly into view, Red tilts her head to oneside, a cautionary glance cast toward Wolfgang and Apple before she offers in quietly calm tones. "We've no birds here, I am afraid. Perhaps if you gave us more information we might be better able to assist you in your search?" And, while her tones are quiet and calm, there is something pointedly persuasive in the manner in which she speaks.

Apple lets out an almost imperceptible whimper and moves even closer to Wolfgang. She holds one hand to her face, covering her mouth nervously as she eyes the man from Wolf's shadow.

"Your bird." A tilt of Wolfgang's head brings his gaze back over his shoulder to the quivering edge of a certain pale wing there beside him, before his head comes up and around to look up towards the humanoid figure gazing down at them from the shadows. Again, no further words, letting Red speak for them.

"I was looking for him. I was following him you see. He was the first one, the first one that ever flew, and he was so /beautiful/. I've never seen anything so beautiful, the bird…" The man (who appears to be in his late teens or early 20's) shakes his head back and forth between the bars, "The stone monsters up here…" He points a shaky finger up, clearly pointing at one of the gargoyles so common to the older buildings in the city, "They tell me funny stories and riddles, but I can't figure them out. They said that…the People Down There." He points now, generally, around to the streets, as if indicating the mass of humanity that must pass through these streets, "Might help me find my bird."

Making a point not to draw any attention toward Apple, or her wings, Red cants her head to oneside as she listens to the stranger, her brows furrowing faintly as she slants a glance toward the gargoyles overhead and then back toward to the speaker. "I am afraid we have not have seen your bird," she provides in pointedly calm tones. "Although we might be able to lend a hand with the unweaving of riddles." Pausing a beat, she takes an unconcious step a wee bit closer to Wolfgang's side, her hands moving to brace lightly upon her hips. "Where did you last this bird and how long ago was the sighting? For that matter," she adds in tones pitched to reasonable levels. "Knowing more about yourself might aide us in lending new insight to your own search."
Apple looks as if she might cry, scream, pass out or run, and is having a hard time deciding which to do. She seems to find some comfort in the relative safety that Wolfgang's presense offers, and Red's apparent calm handling of the situation, or at least it can be assumed she finds comfort, since she /doesn't/ do anything rash or loud. She does her best to stay quiet and not draw attention to herself, though she's shaking like a leaf.

"An' what's your name, boy?" The question arises from Wolfgang's lips as he continues to regard those shadows, arms folding one over the other, the impotent serpent's jaws of one scaled sleeve snapping and gripping against his wrist as he does so. Just a solid wall to be hidden behind, it appears; not so large as some bouncers or bikers, but intimidating enough to seem so at times.

"Ooooooo…." The child-like voice virtually coos, apparently having spotted Apple and her wings anyway, "You have a bird too. Know a bird." He peers closer now, stretching his neck between the bars, and watching with glistening eyes that seem on the verge of tears, before he sniffles and offers, "Not my bird." He sounds sad at that, and shakes his head, "You know riddles?" Come…come on, come on up. There's a ladder there, I'll talk to them for you." He seems excited at this prospect, and leaps as dexterously as a jungle monkey back to the other building across the alley, scampering up on the outside of the fire escapes like a spider before looking back over his shoulder, to see if they're coming.

"Mmm." The sound Red makes is one of pointed uncertainty. She is not, it seems, keen on clambering up ladders to local rooftops, even if it is to try her hand at solving the riddles of New York's gargoyles. "It might," she calls as the figure pauses to glance back at them. "Be simpler to merely recite the riddles to us yourself. And," she notes still more pointedly. "You've yet to offer us any manner of name, which is, frankly speaking, hardly a polite exchange."
Apple relaxes slightly as she takes the man's words to mean he's not looking for her, but is still unnerved enough to let the others do the talking, for now. She looks up at the roof, squinting slightly as she tries to make something out in the dark.

A noncommittal sound emerges from deep in Wolfgang's throat, a look slanted to the two girls before he looks back up, again, where the shadowy figure leaps and clambers up through the maze of fire escapes. A step forward's taken, and then he looks back to Red, allowing, "Your call. I'll go first, if you do."

The man thinks this over for a moment. He is obviously deeply consternated by the question, and his brow furrows in thought. He then opens his mouth once…closes it. Twice….closes it. Then he scratches his head with one hand (hanging precariously from a railing) and offers in a soft, apologetic and confused voice, "I don't have one. I just am."

"On the one hand," Red provides to Wolfgang. "It seems inhospitable not to make at least an attempt to be of help. On the other, it seems patently unwise to clamber about on rooftops with one we've yet to put a name to." Pursing her lips, the diminutive red haired female takes a step forward all the same, her hands still braced firmly on her hips. Regarding the stranger for a long moment, she gives a faint shake of her head, dark eyes slanting a glance toward Wolfgang. "I don't know, Wolf. He truly wants his bird, that much is clear." Mind you, on the same token, going aloft could prove dear. "I suppose we can go, although I would prefer you take care not to fall on me." It is, at least, an attempt at humor.

"Furthest thing from my mind," Wolfgang rumbles under his breath— although to which of them, or both, he replies is left for them to figure out. That said, he gives his head a brief shake and steps onward into the darksome shadows of the alley, reaching up one clawed hand to grab hold of a ladder's rung and hauling himself up hand over hand, metal rattling as he heads up.

"You could give me a name, if you like." The man says and then scrambles up. He moves with the ease of someone who has spent many years climbing, back and forth along the roofs of New York City. And when the group finally reaches the top, they find him perched on a (relatively) wide ledge just below the roof proper (and they are free to continue to climb up to the real roof and just peer down at him) some 12 stories above the streets below. He is perched in between two gargoyles, crouched on his haunches with his hands between his legs, as if imitating their posture. He leans forward, and whispers something into one of the stone gargoyle's ears, seeming almost to have forgotten the existence of the three Changelings.

Ascending the ladder behind Wolfgang, Red takes a moment to catch her breath once safetly upon the rooftops. Making a point to avoid spending too much time looking down, one hand smooths her skirt back into place as she settles into a seat upon the upper ledge. "I think it would be necessary to know more of you before offering a name worth more then a passing of breath," she answers frankly. "It would hardly be complimentary to just toss a word into the air and hope it suits." Glancing toward the ladder to ascertain that Apple safely makes the roof, she shifts in her seat to better observe thier strange new companion. "Although Menhir does, admittedly, come to mind."
Apple pulls up the rear, though she seems almost as comfortable with the climb and the heights as the unnamed man. She stays close to the edge, eyeing the man suspiciously and still trying to stay as unnoticed as possible.

The scattered bits of gravel and torn tar-paper crunch beneath Wolfgang's booted feet like dried leaves as he walks slowly over the rooftop after stepping free of the highest point of the fire escape; one boot, then the other, raising up to rest upon the ledge before he crouches a bit, gazing down towards the strange young man (?) perched between the gargoyles and whispering to them. After a moment, he rumbles ominously, "Should've known they were watching."

The man leans his head over, ignoring Red for now, and seems to be listening to the Gargoyle. Of course, it's possible he's just out of his mind. Because the Gargoyle doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't shimmer with Wyrd, doesn't do anything unusual. It just sits there, being stone. But the man nods his head regardless, listening for a few moments. Then he turns, peering up with a craned neck at the trio of Changelings, "I think this one is for you."

Watching their impromptu host and his odd companion, Red folds her hands in her lap, a tilt of her head sending corkscrew curls tumbling over shoulder. Since the strangers attention is currently directed elsewhere, she takes the opportunity to observe the city from this new vantage point, her attention only reluctantly drawn gargoyle-ward upon being addressed. "For us?"
Apple watches in continued silence, though she takes a few steps closer, seeming a bit curious as the man "talks" to the Gargoyles.

"What," asks Wolfgang in his usual curt and to-the-point manner, "Does it say?"

"It says that some believe it is cold, some believe it is hot. Some believe it is real, some believe it is not. No one has been there, but all of us are going there." The man peers up at them, looking between each individual Changeling. He shrugs his shoulders, "Do any…" And then he pauses, cocking his ear as if hearing something. "Oh. I've got to go. It was very nice to meet you. Thank you for helping me find my bird." He then looks to Apple again, almost longingly, looking her wings over with an almost disturbing combination of curiousity and lust, before leaping back across to the other building, "Let me know if you find anything. They're always watching you, even when I'm not. And they tell me lots of stuff." And then, another leap takes him onto the roof of the building opposite……. and he's gone.

Listening to the riddle, Red blinks once, her mouth opening to offer an answer when then strange companion suddenly announces he has to go. Rather then just call out her guess, she dips her chin in a polite nod, offering belatedly, "It was… very nice to meet you." It is only once he has bounded off to places unknown that she looks back at Wolfgang and Apple and raises her shoulders in a slow shrug. "Strange fellow, that."
Apple sighs a quiet breath or relief as the man disappears. She asks quietly, "Did…did we agree to help him? I distinctly remember not having done so, but I have been known to be wrong."

"The Afterlife." The words are a low rumble from Wolfgang's lips, before he slowly pushes himself up from that crouch, turning and hopping down from the edge of the rooftop, broad shoulders rolling back as he stretches slightly, "Curious fellow. Mad? Or inspired? I will keep my eyes upward, for my part."

"I'll trust you to inform me if you spy anything untoward, Wolf." Wrinkling her nose, Red slants a glance toward the gargoyle, studying it for a moment before offering a vague shake of her head toward Apple. "In so many words? No. Insomuch as we clambered up onto the rooftops to hear the gargoyle's riddle? I'm afraid so, Apple." Hands still braced on her hips, Red paces a few steps to the edge of the roof, a stray breeze lifting corkscrew curls as she gazes out across the city. "At any rate, my guess was the same as Wolf's for the answer to the riddle. It is a pity our strange friend could stay long enough to hear it."
Apple shrugs and says, "Maybe the riddle wasn't the point." She eyes the gargoyle suspiciously, as if trying to figure out what it might be plotting, "He wasn't normal, and I don't like spies. I say it's best to forget the whole thing, don't you agree?" She looks hopefully at you both.

"Forget? That would be foolishness…" A slow shake of Wolfgang's head as he walks along over towards the fire escape, one hand raising to scratch at the curve of his jaw as he gazes off after the departed figure, "…remember, and keep your eyes and ears open. He may merely be mad. Or he may be the herald of some greater weave of fate. We shall see."
That all said, he turns his head, regarding the place where Red stands as the wind draws her hair along with it in gently waving locks, expression and gaze unreadable for long moments of silence.

"There is no question that he was not normal," Red agrees. "Such being the case, I agree with Wolf, forgetting the whole thing might not be the wisest course of action. Turning one's back to danger rarely makes it go away," she notes in a 'voice of experience' sort of way. "Rather, we would all do well to keep a keen eye out, and aloft, for further visitiations." Glancing between Apple and Wolfgang, the diminutive red hair woman adds pointedly. "And, of course, keep one another informed, should another appearance of our 'friend' be made." Noting Wolf's gaze, her head gives a faint tilt to oneside, her own expression turning unreadable as she steps over and touches a momentary hand to his arm. "Lets go down, shall we?" Whatever the matter might be, she seems disinclined to acknowledge it at the present. Instead, she moves promptly for the ladder and starts her descent.

Apple nods and follows Red, "Perhaps you are right." She sounds fairly disappointed that her suggestion wasn't accepted. "I don't like to think of stone spies."

Just a moment's tension as that hand brushes to his arm, before Wolfgang's chin dips in wordless affirmation; watching the beflowered woman walk away for a few heart-beats, he turns then to step after her, twisting 'round and lowering a boot to the next rung lower before proceeding apace towards the street below. "Even if you hide," he grunts out to Apple, "You need to watch."

"I am afraid, Apple," Red points out as she descends the ladder. "That not liking something is rarely ample cause to ignore it's presence. But then, there is always the possibility that he might simply be mad as a hatter and nothing more." Once delicately clad feet are firmly on solid ground, Red returns her hands to hips, surveying her surroundings from this new vantage point. "At the very least, we gained a solid reminder of the fact that there is more to be aware of then what is within our immediate surroundings. That, at least, is something."
Apple shrugs as she moves down the fire escape nimbly, "Oh, I always watch. I'm good at that. I just don't like the idea of someone watching me in return. I'll have a chat with the locals, though, and see if anyone has come across a runaway. Maybe we can find his parrot and shoo him along."

"You should be watchful, little Apple." The last few feet of the final ladder are leapt down, and Wolfgang lands in a crouch there, looking up to her with a slight gleam of yellow-gold in his eyes, lips curving in a smile that shows off those canines once more, "I knew all too well how he looked at you. At your wings. Be wary of the gargoyle whisperer."

"You," Red points out practically. "Should take extra special care, Apple. Our 'friend' seemed inordinantly keen on the fact that you possess wings of your own." Not a particularly comforting thought, she knows. But then she firmly believes that one should be aware of the fact that they are potentially prey. "I would avoid going off into the dark on my own, were I you." And in a sense, Red has been 'her' albeit in another time and place. Her statement, however, stirs her to glancing toward Wolfgang, an unconcious tilt of her chin bringing corkscrew curls down to partially conceal her features from view. She's quite content to pretend she didn't hear what Wolfgang had to say on the matter. Despite the fact that it mirrors her own words. Thusly 'protected' from prying eyes, she takes a moment to compose herself before looking up and flashing a practiced easy smile. "At any rate," she notes with briskly forced cheerfulness. "We're back on solid ground and safe." For the time being, thank you very much.
Apple nods and gives Wolfgang a fleeting smile as she reaches the ground, once again chewing on her nails now that her hands are free, "Oh yes…Yes…Well, hopefully that won't be a problem." She gives a convulsive shrug and falls into worried silence. After a few minutes she says abruptly, "I should go. Thank you both for a lovely evening." And with that she heads off down the street walking quickly.

As the winged girl goes off into the night, those gold-flecked eyes follow her with a stark intensity for a few moments… and then Wolfgang pulls himself up to his full height in an almost too-sudden motion, jerking from stillness to activity and turning upon his heel to stalk out from the alley without another word. Towards the center, of course.

"Have a pleasant…" Red's farewell trails off as she watches Apple depart, her lips pursing mildly as she watches the girl go. Rather then remain alone in the alley, however, Red steps after Wolfgang, dark eyes unreadable in the lingering shadows as she watches his back.

The Changelings do their talking, making their guesses amongst themselves, discussing whether or not to help the man, and laying the best laid plans of wolves, winged girls, and red women. Many hours later, a skeletal thin man paces back and forth on a roof a mile or two away. He walks back and forth along a ledge that any sane person would declare totally unsafe to stand on, moving on it as if it were the widest and easiest path. He bounces back and forth, talking to the gargoyles.

"They're going to help me. Those nice people. Isn't that excellent? Maybe I can go home…" His boyish timber is unanswered by the stone beasts, at least unanswered in any tone the living and sane can hear. "It's been so long, I don't even know where my home is, or what it is like. They /are/ going to help, don't you think? They must?" He is turning a brick around in his hands nervously, taking small anxious nibbles from it occasionally. "They must. It's been so many years. But you have been such good friends. I was scared of you at first. But now I understand. You've taught me. You've taught me.." He leans against a gargoyle, it's impassive face staring out at the city below.

"If they won't help me…" A hint of childish petulance growing in that tone, and something darker beneath, something older, something /hungry/. "If they won't help me. I taught the birds to fly. I can teach them to fly too can't I? We've taught many people to fly over the years, haven't we? Yes, yes, it's so easy. All you do is give them a little push…" He lobs the brick into the air, and then bends over on his haunches, squirming to his belly and hanging off the edge by his fingers as he watches it tumble down. 12 stories, 15, 20. And then the brick shatters into thousands of bits of plaster, shattered on the sidewalk below, "And they all fly so beautifully…"

Silent, the Gargoyles watch.

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