Where: The Strip
When: November 8, 2012; Evening
What: And in the dark, I hear your screams.
Las Vegas.
It's a place where one can hide. Time and time again, many a person has come here to disappear. Some pruposefully, even if just for a few days. others, unintentionally and never to be found again. A bed beneath the red dirt of the desert, eventual worm food. It's here, in the heart of this city built on secrets, with people from all walks of life backlit by the glow of the casino's and theatres, that one person stands.
Potential felt in a few, an opportunity. A chance.
A plethora of faces to get lost amongst, one flower amongst many. Few eyes ever track twice toward the dark haired fellow with the dispassionate visage, a lone man that seems far too businesslike in his movements than his leisurely posture would imply. Arms and hands hang loose and relaxed at his sides, head tilted just so that he could be taking in the sights instead of watching the people ebb and flow around him.
None are the wiser to his actual purpose, the singular reason to visit Sin City and the lingering drive within him. Tourists and locals alike tread by, unaware. He's held it off, so far, the yearning and desire. The time hasn't been right. Yet, while the bring neon glow illuminates half his face and casts the other half in darkness, his waiting pays off and a small curl touches his lips. Feet begin to move again, like following a scent, drawing into the pedestrian tide.
Past the hen crowds, the tall leggy women in itty bitty dresses and heels that would make even a giraffe look short. Past group of people with long necked plastic cups filled with booze. Like a shark scenting it's prey from a mile away in the water, just the faintest whiff of blood. Ahead, there's a woman in a suit, making her way down the strip, eventually hanging a left and heading off the strip, away from the crowd.
It isn't difficult to stay back, to allow a tantalizing distance linger between him and the mark on his radar. To remain undetected within the press of bodies. The women and men that make out the crowds enjoying Las Vegas' night life are passed by with ease, barely a glance given as the man hones in on his desires. At the corner he pauses, shoulder barely brushing the side of a building as his eyes follow the female suit.
Hardly a second passes for his observation and he's on the move again. His expression narrows fractionally, becoming more hawklike. The smirk remains. A thrill of excitement quickens his heartbeat and his pace eases into a step just a touch faster than what he'd used along the previous street.
Here, there are far less people, the back side of the strip, where things are far less pretty and more industrial, the sole purpose to support the glitz and glamor of the front. here there's a parking lot, car after car, staff parking for the MGM grand, lights keeping the place well lit and very little chance for shadows. Camera's affixed to poles to provide some security for the ones who park here.
Her heels strike on the pavement pausing at one time to turn and look behind her, dark hair swinging against her jaw in it's soft bob and looking around.
Keeping entirely concealed within shadow may be an improbable feat, with the lights of nearby casinos and hotels chasing away what little darkness would otherwise be left by the lights flooding the parking lot. It's inevitable that the man will eventually be seen, and perhaps that's a desire in and of itself. One he hasn't fully given over to yet, though that facet isn't far off from the other.
As the woman turns, he stops so that a streak of darkness not yielded to the illumination meant to create an air of safety cuts a path across his face though leaves the rest of his body unobscured. Simple clothes of dark gray pants and black button-down shirt overlain a plain white tee stands out in slight relief against the brightness. He lifts a hand, a finger points toward the woman then turns over to crook in a come here gesture.
Not so fast there buddy. He may be crooking a finger, but this is a wise woman and she's not falling for it. There's a phone in her hand, drawn out from her purse and numbers already dialed, ready to hit send as she picks up her own pace again. To her car? Towards the back of the building that the parking lot belongs to? Blame life and the ingrained caution of being a woman alone in a parking lot with strange men. His prey won't be that easy.
Lips part slightly when the woman begins to run, smirk twisting toward amusement. Undeterred, the man follows her, his eyes first track her escape and then his feet fall in after, slow at first. His hand, still raised, flicks to the side as an extension of his telekinesis used to rip that phone away and toss it into some ambiguous location.
He takes left around one car and then a right between two others. His hand comes down as he walks, quickly but unhurried and on an obvious path to plant himself in front of the woman again.
He zigs she zags, taking a second to hop to remove her heels, a sound of surprise from her as her phone falls from her hand and flys off elsewhere.
It's then that she runs in earnestness, not caring that she's making pantyhose run and fearing for her life. "Help!" She screams out, hoping that someone nearby will hear her, see her. Someone
The cars in the parking lot create an interesting paradox, hindering both himself and the woman. But the dark haired man doesn't appear concerned by the obstacles. He lifts both hands at the woman, power controlled to trip and stumble her just as he ducks around another vehicle.
Partially blocked from view, he launches into a sudden sprint, speed and stride to catch up to the woman. And actually appear in front of her with one finger raising to his lips in a hushing gesture.
All sounds stop, scream cutting off, looking up from the pavement where she tumbled thanks to the man. Just rushed breath as lungs suck in air and eyes widen. He shushes her, and across the parking lot, away from the pool of light that the woman sits in, cars around them, some rats look up with twitching whiskers at the scream cut short. A second later, they return to what they were doing.
