What We Do In The Shadows

Chimney Swift prepared to leave his makeshift roost for the last time. A block away from his target, the metahuman could yet still see the glinting cases within the shuttered store from his rooftop vantage. Gathering up his jacket and parka, they folded up well to be stuffed into the recesses of the duffel bag slung over his chest, a few quiet clinks heard from the entirely makeshift 'utility belt' situated at his unhealthily narrow waist. The duffel itself was empty; With hope, it'd be filled by the end of the night, which approached steadily. 3 AM, when the last hired security finished circling the block around Fay Jewelers before making a break for the local bodega for his nightly brew... Just like clockwork.

So why was he shaking so badly?

This hadn't been the first foray into theft for Chimney. He'd opportunistically smashed and grabbed from a vault during someone else's bank robbery heist back when he was less mutated, of course it would be attributed to the masterminds and the bank would get a write-off just as well. He could have hid his wings back then, though... It was easy to foot it just as the other crooks had. He'd also refined his lockpicking skills personally on the local governor's abode- Yeah, the one that was taking cash bribes from utility conglomerates that colluded to keep prices high. That one got dicey quickly, and he'd earned a nasty bullet scar scraping along his side for it, but both of those operations were CHAOTIC.

This? Perfectly orderly. All according to plan. He had ten to fifteen minutes to grab whatever he could and wing it. It was a cloudy night, dark with a new moon, and his black clothes draped over what pale skin they could in order to cloak him in darkness and inky feathers against a yawning sky. He knew the codes- Watched the clerk tap them in over and over from his rooftop vantage so he knew they hadn't been changed. Watched exactly where she walked in order to reach the inside security panel- That one had been harder to spot, but he managed it after a week of staking out. Seen that code's entry, too.

There was a distant thought that this would be the first heist as... Something Different, it. Put a greater weight to it somehow. He was no longer human-- Humans couldn't -fly-. He was changing into something else and that almost seemed like it put him on the market for a higher calibre of encounter. He wouldn't be facing the cops, likely, if he was caught here... He'd be facing heroes.

Chimney swift lidded his great golden eyes and steadied his hitching breaths with a few deep, steady ones. Preciously, time slipped away, and yet it took him the space of a few moments to -unstick his legs- from their rigid position on the edge of the roof. Just glide... Enter, snatch, grab, and go...

Easy.

He splayed his arms wide, feathers spanning two dozen feet at their furthest tips, and arced the fan to catch wind as he steadied his footing and leapt. A few powerful wingbeats had his altitude high enough for a neat soar, one that carried him racing down to the side door of Fay Jewelers.

His lockpicks clattered at his waist as he snatched them up and fiddled, simultaneously punching in a code on the keypad next to the door. Two satisfied clicks, a green light later, and he was easing his way in as he tried desperately to steady his breathing. His hammer was already snatched free from his belt as he raced across the store and punched in the secondary code-- An entry alarm wouldn't go off.

Though, following a few gulping breaths, and the trembling raise of that workmans' hammer, the broken glass alarm would.

"Sshhhit..!" He breathed as he scattered glass away from the first case, pulling his bag open and starting to stuff it with the fine, sparkly goods that lay within.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP...

The evening was quiet.

At least as quiet as a city could be. Although, this particular part of the city was a bit more quiet than one would've expected from a city. It was an odd and almost surreal feeling, like it was its own world separate from everything else. It felt almost lonely to be out here, in this quiet and dark place. Although, it truly wasn't alone, as anyone could simply walk right out...but was it that easy?

Did that make sense? Samuel Grayson didn't think so, but the random drunk, stoner he had helped home had been uttering strange mumblings like that entire way home. And the drunk had been mumbling with such confidence that Sam couldn't help but dwell on it. The fact that it had also been a relatively quiet night in terms of criminals to bust also had the statement all the more present in his head. Maybe because he had been bored out of his mind and there was nothing else to do.

Samuel Grayson, or Odd...or Blackjack...he was honestly still working on his hero name, sat on a perch high above the street. His legs hung over the side of the building as he idly scanned the street, looking for anything that may have stuck out or needed doing. It was common enough to find a hero up on a high place where they could keep a vigil, at least that was what he had learned from old comic books. For the first few months of heroing he had tried to do similar poses to them as he kept a watch, but found that it was killer on the knees to do that. Just crouched, balancing on your feet on the edge of a building, hoping that a criminal would just happen to be on the street below and all just so you could swoop down and look impressive for a few moments before the villain ran off or fought or whatever...

It was not worth the effort. He had learned that relatively quickly, especially after one attempt at a dramatic entrance that ended up with him getting pepper sprayed by the person he was trying to save. Nope, not worth it...

So he just sat there, casually leaning back as did his watch, waiting for something to happen. This had been the worst part of the job. The waiting for crimes. Of course you never want crimes to be committed, buuuuuuuut....no one liked waiting around doing nothing when they had a job to do. He just wanted a villain to do something so that he could get to work instead of watching the same piece of trash float around for hours at end.

It was just as the boredom was reaching all that he could handle that his savior rung out into the night.

An alarm, not too far from him by the sound of it, began to sound!

A robbery? A hostage situation? A cat accidentally knocking something over?! It didn't matter! It was something to do and Sam nearly leapt from his spot. Well, he actually did leap from his spot, beginning to head right for the pavement several stories below him, but right before the impact a portal opened beneath him. As he fell through the portal at his feet, another would be connected, pointed upward so that the momentum of his fall would launch him upward into the air. He listened carefully while in the air, which was something he could've done from his perch, but he was excited.

Once he had gotten the general direction of where he needed to go, and s he reached the zenith of his ascent upward, another portal opened right below him. The portal connected to that one would safely plop him down on a nearby roof, where he soon quickly dash across. From rooftop to rooftop he would work his way towards the sound of the alarm, growing closer and closer with every leap. He had only been a block or two away, so his arrival had been swift, skidding to a stop on a rooftop that overlooked the building. Carefully, he watched the building, waiting to see if the intruder would reveal themselves.

All seemed well for Fay Jewelers, except of course.. The open back door. Nestled in a tight alleyway, the vantage from the air made it obvious that the door had been swung open and now yawned, letting moonlight and streetlights in on the shadowed interior. Just within the building, a figure-- Something LARGE by the looks of it, and distinctly not humanoid, rustled within... Raising a huge arm to slam a simple hammer down on the glass cases within, and moving along with cases of jewelry tucked away to its' chest. The shape moved with a persistent feathery rustle, seeming too large to really fit between the sleek silver shelves, a dark head of hair obscuring their features as they looked about the interior of the shop.

Of course Fay Jewelers had glass break alarms. Why wouldn't they? That was obvious- and also moot, it was fine, this was fine, just...

Chimney Swift's feathers clattered against the case behind him as he gripped entire box-frames of jewelry to stuff into the duffel bag slung over his chest. His wide eyes darted, scanning for the golds, the platinum displays, diamonds and rubies- valuable things, all the while his thoughts screamed not to get too GREEDY. How many seconds had elapsed? Too many, or maybe not enough... His hammer came down again and again, scattering shards over the floor into a deadly glimmer that crunched under the swift trod of his boots, systematically.

He could ignore the spike of pain that lanced through his fingers on one particularly brusque snatch, but the seep of heat and sight of blood running down into his midnight feathers from the oddly long, and now sliced digits brought him to a stumbling pause. He'd only filled the bag up halfway, but-- It was then that nerves overtook him. With his expression filled with nothing less than fear, he bit back a whimper in his throat and twisted to look toward the door he'd left propped open.

Cautious and flighty was his nature- even feeling the lightness of the five frames in his duffel bag that could easily hold 15 or 20, Chimney's nerves got the best of him. "C-can't do this," He mumbled to himself as he stuffed the hammer into his belt and clutched his bleeding hand close, starting to make a break for the doorway.

To his credit, everything was still perfectly according to plan!... Get in, grab, get out, and it was better sooner than later even though the fencers would probably only buy these at an eighth of the price Fay Jewelers was selling them for, if that. The cuts weren't expected, but he didn't need his remaining humanoid fingers to -fly-. At the end of the alley was a ladder that would take him up to the roof of the building directly next to the jewelry shop, and from there, he could get height and lose whatever cop or metahuman CATS team may be called in to handle him, and after a day or two in hiding, then another week spent on greyhound busses travelling out of state to fence off the jewelry... He'd be safe to return to his home. Return to his siblings, to Giddeon, soon enough.

Just as planned. Maybe Crime DOES pay, maybe it'd be worth the hammering panic in his heart and a couple cuts on his fingers!

The city was never a dark place, whether from street lamps or the pollution of lights from the not so distant skyscrapers there was always something to illuminate the night. With that said, though, there was something dark about this street. The shadows cast from the distant and near lights were exaggerated and deeper, making it hard to focus on any one thing. The slightest bit of movement could be anything from a piece of trash carried by the wind to a villain on the prowl, doing all they could to hide within that deep shadow.

Sam realized two things as he looked down upon the street. One, so far one hundred percent of the time it had been trash blown around by the wind and not some vile villain on the prowl. And then two, that from here he would never actually be able to catch the villain if they had chosen to escape through the back way or into some side alley. He was being too passive…again. That had been a habit Mel, his mentor, had been trying to break for some time.

Well, he’d try and do her proud now.

Opening a portal from his place on the ledge of the building, he stepped through and down onto the street below. The shadowy substance that covered his skin acted as a good camouflage with the shadows that clung to the streets, and quietly he shifted towards Fay Jewelers. He stepped carefully through the street, a low presence to the ground, and moving with a grace and nimbleness that barely gave any sign of his approach to the store.

Almost child-like, as he reached the window, he peaked through the front, trying to discern any shape or movement. Much to his disadvantage in that motion, however, while his skin was pitch black, his eyes were a bright white, almost like starlight which would, no doubt, catch the glances of any who even casted a side glance his way.

As he peered into the room his eyes were first drawn to the open back door where the dim light of a back alley light dipped into the shop. His gaze then followed that faint trail of light over to a figure who had been by one of the jewelry cases, with what looked like a bag over their shoulder. If there had ever been a suspicious culprit in Sam’s book, well…this would be it. The question was how to approach the man.

Okay, it was time to plan this out. Option A, he could do what Mel would do and surprise attack, knock him out and turn the crook in. But that didn’t sit right with him, especially against thieves who probably just needed a hand in life. Option B, he could go in and try and talk the guy down…buuuuuut, if the man had a gun and got the first shot off…Sam didn’t like having holes in him. That was only if the man had a gun, though. Option C…he didn’t think this far ahead, so he would just label this one as “improvise” and hope for the best. That was a wild card bet that could go either way, which posed its own problems.

He let out a small breath. He was being passive…or indecisive again. He had to act. He had to do something before the man got out to the streets where it’d be easier to lose him. Not sure which option to go with he opted for the latter of them and with another quick breath to calm himself, he opened a portal and reached through.

Instead of fully going in, Sam just put his upper body through, having it appear behind the feathered thief. A body hanging upside down from a strange black hole in midair probably wouldn’t be a very pleasing sight to a random person. And yet, regardless of that, Sam wore a wide and warm smile as he reached out to tap the man’s shoulder, hoping to grab his attention.

“Excuse me, sir, I don’t think this is legal.” He said simply, still grinning with a strange sort of friendliness.

There are few things less immediately terrifying than the immediate realization that-- Not ONLY are space ghosts real, but they're also on the Hero side when you're in the middle of holding several thousand dollars worth of pilfered goods, mid-pilfering.

Chimney went still as that foreign voice echoed through the room, amicable and beaming, a palm set firmly on his shoulder. His hoodie had clearly been modified to accommodate the glossy black feathers splayed from his arms- Sleeveless by necessity, with buttons clasped up his sides and the hood presently raised. Where Sam's palm touched, tiny pin feathers were erupting in a natural spread where longer ruffled feathers lay, a sore and sorry process that had an odd bumpy texture to Chimney Swift's reddened pale skin. You'd think the touch hurt him-- Or perhaps he was just that much of a weenie-- when the lanky figure jerked his head up, sucking in a gasp. Simultaneously, the feathers stretching down each arm proceeded to swell and RUFFLE in complete startlement- until a downright musical cry erupted from Chimney Swift.

Twisting, he stumbled back in a skittering scramble that had his ungainly feathers knocking into cases, shattered or not, even a few long tail feathers swishing along the ground behind him. It's one of these that proves his downfall as his boot plants onto the tail feather to earn yet ANOTHER yelp from him, sending him crashing down onto his backside... Thankfully away from most of the shattered glass scattered all over the floor.

"ddDDUUHHON'T KILL ME! DON'T DO A MURDER! PLEASE WAIT OH- WAIT NO I'M TOO SCRAWNY FOR SUPE PRISON." Ah, the consequences of one's actions. Facing toward Sam now in the HEAP that he was sitting in, a set of terribly bright and wide glimmering yellow eyes were darting every which way as the mutated man immediately fell apart into hyperventilation, a grimace set on his hawkish face. He almost didn't spot the night-clad hero until he focused on Sam's white beaconlike eyes. His boots scuffed across the floor as he dragged himself backward, too-long and feathery arms coming to circle around himself in a protective splay. Sam could see the blood trickling down from Swift's right hand, only three-fingered as it was, unfortunately cut on the glass he'd been smashing.

"Iii...! I have! Weapons! I'mmm going to fight you if you try to- Try to stop me! Yes! I'm GOING TO FIGHT! Have to fight- Don't TRY ANYTHING man! Or-- O-Or Wo-man, or, neither- Irespectyourpronounsspaceghost, JUST... STAY BACK!" His throat felt raw from that many -words- spoken in short order, it'd felt like forever since he'd said much at all, especially with strain.. High, trilling whistles accompanied the cracks and wheezes, he was too worked up to be embarrassed of them. Not in this Life Or Prison Scenario!

For all the weapons he claimed to have, he seemed.. honestly too paralyzed in shock in the moment to even try to reach for them, still scuttling backward until his back met a yet-unshattered jewelry case. When his back bumps against the glass, he crams himself back against it to glare at Sam like he -wasn't- actively tearing up. "I MEAN IT!"

Sure, buddy.

Sam watched, with a dumb sort-of open mouth smile, his eyes filled with a strange sense of delight as he watched the strange bird man stumble over himself and scurried away more like a rat than a bird.

Sam, still hanging upside down in the portal, suddenly raised his hands “up?” as if he was surrendering to the Bird Mantm. He looked “up” to the floor and with a small hop on the other side of the portal brought himself down and onto the floor. His hands caught the fall and he fell forward into a roll until he was actually propped upright on his feet.  As he landed and rolled the stars and the night colored sky on his body seemed to move and shift with his motions, as if he was moving across a projector’s display. The only thing that didn’t seem to change about him was that dumb, cheerful smile, which probably summed up the young hero nicely, and his bright, star-like eyes.

In an easy stride, Sam would carry himself over the Bird ManTM and then crouch down like a father checking over their child who had just taken a bad fall. The smile fell and then softened when it landed; becoming a thinner, gentler grin, as if it was trying to prove that he was no harm to his scared and admittedly clumsy thief. His hand reached to a pouch on the back of his belt and dug through for a moment, and while one might expect a pair of cuffs he instead brought out a soft roll of linen bandages.

The words, in their colorful and wild display of tone and diction, seemed to do nothing to deter Sam’s presence. Instead, in a very slow motion, like a person reaching for a kitten stuck in a tree, he would try and softly take Bird ManTM’s hand. If by any leaps or bounds that he actually managed to grab the trembling and bleeding appendage of the thief, Sam would first make sure there was still no glass shard within it and then begin to wrap the soft cloth around it. He made sure the bandage would be comfortable enough that thief could still move his hand with an awkward ease, but at least tight enough to stem the bleeding.

Whether or not the bandage was accepted, Sam would slowly back away, keeping his body low and unassuming, a feat that was more like a default for him. That was probably not the best tendency for someone under the label of “Hero” to have, but to his own fault, Sam was unaware that it was natural for him.

Now, with a safe and comfortable distance between the two powered individuals, Sam rose a hand in greeting. “Man is fine! I honestly am still working on a hero name. I’ve gone through Odd, Blackjack, uhh…I have been rattling Stellar around in my head, but not sure yet.” He let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his hair, which seemed to be the only thing not displaying stars and a night sky. “If you got any suggestions I’m open to it, Bird Man.” He stood again, going to his full height, a very intimidating 6’0 (though honestly was probably an inch or so shorter).

“Anyways, as I was saying before, not sure if this legal. Do you…need any help with anything? We can get all of this put away if you like and then we can try and talk this out.”

The miserly ball of oily black feathers watched with nothing less than owlish terror as Sam's arms came 'up', pupils continually contracting and broadening in an unnerving display. Stressed to the limit, clearly, but even yet-- As Sam moved and Swift hissed out in hitching fear, reaching down to grasp one of the clearly home-made flash bombs in the utility belt strapped across his chest... Swift winced apprehensively.

"Be-- Be careful, the glass-,.." he started to murmur, only to -cringe- at the sheer awkwardness of the encroaching situation. Did he just. Warn the guy he was about to flash bomb about some broken glass. Yeah, he did. A flash bomb that he was -absolutely- about to use, for sure, definitely, it would've only taken a moment to light it and then the fuse that stretched down into what was essentially a holey tin can stuffed to the brim with road flares would go up in a brilliantly dazzling flash.

That was assuming a lot about the next few seconds. That plan didn't go according at ALL. Instead, Chimney Swift stared in hollow stress at the flash bomb in his palm, not even managing to pluck up his lighter before his right hand was taken up by Sam in a gentle grip.

His wing came with it, as much as he rigidly froze, and Sam could see why in that moment of gentle inspection-- His hand WAS the wing, his ring and pinky fingers oddly stretched to fuse together down into a fleshy, long appendage that steadied the bird-man's long primaries. Only his middle, index, and thumb remained apart from the wing, but evidence of pink, irritated scarring and even stitching near the webbing showed on the inner side of his middle finger... like it had been cut not too long ago. Though, in a far more controlled manner than the glass had presently cut into what remained of his hand. A few shards remained, small ones but intact and easy to pluck out at least, as his rigid feathers spanned out around the side of Sam.

Perhaps he would have been enraptured by the sight of fantastic stars glimmering in Sam's silhouette, if not for the nagging worry on what authorities would Very Soon be appearing, the alarm continuing to buzz around them. Even still, Chimney swift found himself unable to move, frozen in pure stress as his palm was tended to.. There wouldn't be a way to wrap the gauze completely around it, but you could manage some parts- Well enough, at least. The sheer kindness of the gesture has Swift utterly lost for words, staring in confusion at how gentle the hero is being with him.

Such an innocuous question to ask. He felt jarred by the surreality present here- casually conversing with this man he was sure was going to haul him off to prison in a beat. Words gum in his mouth, but he manages them after a moment of floundering, flicking his eyes back up at Sam as he slowly draws his arm to the side, letting his feathers stretch out so they weren't boxing the man in so much as he stood. The other wing, too, stretched out- it's intimidating in its' own right just from how -big- they are, but the feathers in places look brittle, a little dirty... not cared for the best. Just like Swift.

".... I like Stellar. It's... peppy. It fits.. your smile." He adds, just for a heartbeat feeling his own twitch up at the corner of his pointed lips, before it falls into a tight grimace again.

A choice lays in front of him, one that creeps on with time he doesn't have, distant sirens joining the cacophony erupting through the jewelry shop. Memories flash through, him taking his little brother by the shoulders and promising '-I'll handle it-' when the fridge ran empty again, when the food stamps stretched far too thinly for a family of six and a deadbeat father. They'd been banking on this. Why hadn't he gone more smalltime? Swiping just one glitzy ring and pawning it would've netted him at least 30, 40 dollars from the absolute price gouging offered by those no-questions-asked pawn shops he knew. That was enough for some ham, some bread, some apple sauces...

Maybe he was just. Tired. A couple thousand, what would've paid out from the several hundred grand resting in his chest duffel bag presently. It would've coasted the rent a few months. Kids could get some new shoes, some stupid little debbie cakes tucked into their lunches. Just a little space to breathe before he'd need to...

Do it again. Unless he couldn't. Unless someone broke his arm jamming him in cuffs at the elbows and then he'd be royally fucked. Swift's eyes watered. He glanced for a second at the flash bomb in his palm, then looked up to Sam.

"... I don't want to be here," he pulled in a shaking breath. Cops, grabbing him, not finding a proper wrist to cuff. What would they do? He was so fucking fragile, this body that shouldn't be, mutated as it was and still metamorphosing -yet-. The thoughts raced, Swift willed himself to -move-. "Iii... I-I need a lot of help, but-... But I'm not gonna get it, am I..? I'm s-sorry," He started, wincing. Making sure he wasn't standing on his tail, he drew his boot back as he scuffed the can's purposefully sanded, roughed up edge across a raspy patch sewn into the bag at his chest. A hail of sparks skittered out from the motion, something he angled onto the short fuse which began to hiss as he too rose up to his boots-- A substantial, lanking 6'4" that was honestly under-shot, though Sam still likely had more -mass- to him. He's whip thin, clothes hanging off of his meager form, the only real wells of mass to him belonging to his excessively worked chest and biceps, ribs peeking through where his shirt had to be buttoned on to accommodate those inky feathers.

Using the palm that had just been bandaged by Sam, he lashed it out to try to level a SWAT with the heel of those powerful wings near the man's head or shoulders, hard enough to at least be disorienting as he twisted with the motion. Would or would not he be successful, the hissing flash bomb rolled to the floor as he tried to wheel around and vault over the cabinet to make a break for the doorway, but it's ungainly, awkward- The span of his wings stretches just over 20 feet when fully extended, and he hardly has time to fold them, so there's a great deal of clattering and shoving involved in his still-footed flight for the doorway... And a lot to -grab-. This was not a fellow designed for the indoors. All the while, the flash bomb hisses, lit fuse creeping into its' confines. In a heartbeat, it'd FLASH, harmless but dazzling all the same.

"SORRY..!"