Opposite Vigilantes {Sailor, Nyte}

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A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

                                                                                                                           -Ralph Waldo Emerson

J U D E P E C U N I A

Home of the heroes and villains
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There's a certain type of person you get to meet when you're the leader of a gang of Robin Hood-esque thieves.

And they're hard to classify, because what shes found throughout the days, months, years, is that the drug dealers, the black market entrepreneurs, the thieves, they all got something special about them. And although sometimes her mind grows weary of all the sad tales and stories they tell her, she'd much rather get to know those types of people rather than the ones that flaunt money as if it is their job.

And get to know them she has, because as time has moved by, aging her features with a mere touch of it's bony fingers, she's built up quite a reference of people she can look to, that she can depend on and, depending on whether her judgement is on point with her morals, use them. There was Lenny the drug dealer from down the street, who's quiet and respectful personality betrayed his true actions, there was Mister Blank, the sadistic and egotistical leader of a group of black market gypsies (She made sure to stay wary of him, because she didn't want to end up clenching a bullet between her brain and her skull) and there was her personal favorite, the grandmother figure of every thief and pickpocketer in District Five, old Granny Tania (legend has it back when she was younger she was feared by every man that thought he was worth something. Hell, she still is).

And then there was Wysper Candlewyck.

Whereas Jude was a hardened soldier, who's ammunition was the money she stole, Wysper Candlewyck was a bomb that had blown up, and at the same time was nearing it's own detonation. A tornado of destruction and chaos, that's what she was. And perhaps that's what drew Jude in in the first place, the fact that they could work wonders together, the eye and the storm. 

The street greeted her with an appropriate exfitement, as if each crack that ran it's course along the rough pavement was directing her towards her meeting point. She twirls a cigarette and all of it's lung-murdering glory between her fingers, chuckling slightly at the fact that she knew she could die from these things , and yet she couldn't find within herself the fuck that was needed to stop smoking them. Her lighter is pulled out of her bag with her opposite hand, painted nails glimmering in the afternoon sun, reflecting the sweltering heat that had come hand in hand with the Summer season.

Flick.

Ignition.

Light.

It was a daily occurrence, the lighting and subsequent smoking of a cigarette. One in the morning as the sun rocketed up into the sky, and one when the Sun was dragged down by whatever the forces were that made it work. And yet, it never became old, stale like her other habits had become. The light that it held never faded, and with each hazy breath of smoke she breathed she felt more and more alive (and the sick irony is that the tiny shits are killing her, one by one).

There's a figure in the distance that makes itself more and more distinguishable with every silent but metaphorically loud footstep she takes, and when she finally reaches the lone figure of Wysper Candlewyck she does nothing more than pull another death stick out of her purse and offer it out, adjusting the pair of now cracked aviators that adorned her face with the other hand.

"Here, figured y'might want it. Pleasure to be working with ya."

template by chelsey

ooc: I'm sorry this took so long, and i'm equally sorry that it's incredibly short and crappy. 

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W Y S P Y R 

Wyspyr found it funny that such chaos could reside in a body as small as she. When morning greeted her with it's obnoxious light, she wanted more than anything to wrap her hands around its throat. To choke the darkness back into the sky so that she'd be able to catch a few more hours of rest. Unfortunately, the girl knew her limitations. Her hand's most likely wouldn't even fit around Light's throat, let alone be able to damage it in any way. This only angered her. 

The child wasn't often angry, in fact she felt had felt very little in her fifteen years. She possessed a body of one much younger and the mind of one much older, and yet it did nothing. Literal nothing. Wyspyr felt no annoyance of her youthful features, nor pride at the intelligence many teachers had acknowledged she possessed. Her expression often one of apathy and nonchalance. No doubt the same one she'd possess while sinking a twelve inch blade into the stomach of a passer-by, just to see how it'd feel. 

She often thought of such things in the early morning, legs dangling over the side of her bed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Would she care if another's life was taken at her hands? Probably not. Would she enjoy such a feeling? Probably. They were not her own thoughts, as far as she could tell, but ones that forced their way into her mind like a foot stuck in a door. And at the same time, each and every thought was her very own; one she enjoyed answering. 

Was Wyspyr Candlewyck a sick fuck? 

Probably. 

A smile made its way onto her lips, a rare occurrence indeed, but one that she welcomed. Today was going to be fantastic. It wasn't very often, now a days, that Wyspyr got to destroy something. She used to do such things often, snapping the saplings lining District Five, collapsing fences and watching as the confused farm animals ran about like newborn fawn, exploring their newfound freedoms. 

Unfortunately, she had caused too much of a ruckus, let her own enjoyment become that of infamy with the law. Wyspyr had been forced to cut down on her merriment, a gaping hole having been left in the girl's being. It was one of the few things Candlewyck enjoyed. When Jude Pecunia asked for her help, she agreed in an instant. While nothing like Wyspyr in passions, she recognized the chaos within her eyes. The need for a thrill and distaste for the law. Wyspyr liked the girl as much as she could, constantly veiled in apathy as she was. 

There was a gentle fog laying over the District that morning, no doubt the cold would bite at her skin in unpleasant ways, had she not covered up properly. Wyspyr noted, with amusement, that she couldn't seem to find a fuck to give. A short dress, adorned in bright red dots and tied around the collar with a bow of the same hue was what she decided upon. White socks were pulled up to her knees, leaving a part of her upper thigh exposed and bright blue sneakers attached to her feet. It didn't match, but then again, neither did she. She chucked at the thought of just how much Vespyr would disapprove of her attire, had he been around to see it. Her brother was the only person she really loved.

Wyspyr made her way to the arranged spot, jubilant as she walked over to Jude. Destruction was near, she could feel it in her bones. The woman held out a cigarette to Wyspyr, "Here, figured y'might want it. Pleasure to be working with ya." 

Wyspyr took the cigarette, smiling. "Thank you muchly." Immediately fiddling with the long white cylinder. Her nails dug into the paper, revelling in glory as she peeled it backwards, tearing it off the cig and allowing it to flutter away in a slight breeze. The contents of it were soon scattered upon the concrete, only some of the tobacco making it into her palms. Flicking away the useless filter, she tore apart the already shredded plant until it was nothing more than dust in the wind. "That was wonderful." she noted, once again thanking Jude for the treat. 

This was only the beginning of the destruction. 

if i go crazy then
will you still call me
s u p e r m a n