A Nice Place to Visit (Cass)

[JASON TODD]

CASSANDRA CAIN
Go team street kids!

It was just another night in Gotham City; the rain was pattering down on the dark and dank city, slight reprieve from the shower being found in the tight alleyway that the sixteen year old was crouched in, fingers deftly working at trying to get into a seemingly locked door. He wasn’t alone though as a rather fidgety figure stood over him, head looking from left to right constantly like some sort of nervous tick.

”Jay, are you sure about this? What if someone comes by?” The nervousness in the short boys voice was evident, but all he got in response was one hand waving off his concerns. ”Really, anyone could walk by and see u-“
”Shut up, will you, I’m trying to concentrate.” Head turned so blue eyes could look at his present company who was nothing short of bouncing up and down on the spot. A glare was shot in his direction and Jason was back to work on picking the lock. He was so close, he just needed a little more and they could get inside out of the dreadful weather for the night. He knew the building in question was empty, he’d seen the people come by a week earlier and empty everything they needed and now the shop was all boarded up, by all standards it was fair game.

He just had it when a loud crash echoed down the alleyway, it was enough to send Jason’s company running scared, but the black haired boy simply glanced over his shoulder as finally the door swung open. That kid wasn’t going to last a month on the streets, especially not as blue eyes saw the perpetrator that was going to crash their party and ruin their evening. Watching the cat that had managed to make such a ruckus the teenager shook his head, grabbing the small, scruffy duffle bag that was home to what few items he did own before closing the door behind him as he entered the dark hallway.

He could hear the rain hitting the roof, glad to finally be out of it since it didn’t look like it was letting up any time soon. Wandering through the dark hallway he soon made his way into what had once been a shop front. A few boxes scattered the room filled with items that were clearly unwanted as shelf’s and counters stood bare, the only light coming through the streetlights peeking through the wooden boards that covered the windows. A flick of the switch had no success, the power had clearly been turned off, but it was hardly a set-back. The light he had would do and as feet clad in grubby trainers that had clearly seen much better days carried the slim figure across the room, hood was pulled down to reveal messy black hair that a hand quickly ran through before rummaging through one of the boxes.

There was nothing of any worth, nothing that he could sell on to get some much needed cash in his pockets, but at least there was something to keep him entertained for the evening. Dusting off the cover of the abandoned book, the young man made himself comfortable underneath one of the windows, the small slither of light being enough for him to get settled in to the book, knee’s bought up to his chest to try and fight off the chill the night was bringing in.

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF SHINE

[CASSANDRA CAIN]

JASON TODD
[[OOC: Sorry for slow response! Stupid computer ate my first attempt at a post lol]]

Eight years in the dojo, eight years on the streets. Though incapable of reading signs in the more traditional interpretations of either of those terms, Cassandra had developed a comparable capacity with understanding the signals of her surroundings as those of any given individual's body language. Rising static in the air, exciting the hairs on her arms, and a darkening sky on the horizon indicated the imminent onset of rain. Boarded up windows were an assurance of a safe haven from that; an environment providing simultaneously the least chance of being disturbed or found out and the greatest opportunity for security and defense should she be. This was the lens through which Cassandra processed the world and her life: like a soldier, or rather tactician, on a battlefield. Except, the girl could never formulate the advanced language or visual aid skills to communicate this constant strategizing. For her, it was instinctive. 

These analyses and conclusions were what found Cassandra standing in the narrow space between the abandoned building and its next-door neighbor. There were windows even here; typical of unplanned and congested Gotham infrastructure. The range of her repetoire of solutions being about as wide as that of her fashion of processing, her entry consisted of punching through both the wood and glass behind, vaulting into the hole created, and then shoving a remaining cabinet in front of the inside face of her brand-new entry point as a means of blocking out both the wet and cold as well as any potential pursuer... or voyeur, for that matter. 

This accomplished, Cassandra's ever-vigilante gaze gave a perfunctory sweep of her temporary abode and, when no immediate threat presented itself, swiftly made herself at home. Her strap-on boots, tying shoe-laces being something that had initially baffled her at first exposure and which she had not since had sufficient motivation to learn, were stowed in the same cabinet she'd just manhandled into position. After pacing the relatively-small space to check locks and determine no further easy entry points currently existed, she simply curled up in the center of the widest space of clear floor available. She'd noted before the tendency of others to choose corners or alcoves to rest in, where available. It puzzled Cassandra, because their body language always spoke plainly of seeking and finding safety in this. However, it was those very same motives which drove her to act in the exact opposite fashion; years of her father's 'wake-up calls' consisting of spontaneous assault giving her an intrinsic association with tight spaces as being less viable defensive or maneuverable positions. 

Sleeping minimally in her life as a result of the same conditioning that moderated her choice of positions to do so, Cassandra drifted off almost as soon as her head touched the floor. However, Cain's training had also made the girl an extremely light sleeper and the first faint metallic sounds drifting in from the attempted-entry at the back door were enough to spring her from curled up in solid REM to crouching in the same spot, muscles tensed to spring in any given direction and eyes snapped wide awake to flare at the source, nearly instantly. Nearly masked by the steady drum all around of the continuing rain, Cassandra could still make out two hushed voices beyond the door. She couldn't hear the content well and, sans the ability to fill in the gaps with body language, probably wouldn't have been able to decipher its meaning anyway. The continued muted clinking and rattling coming from the lock however made clear that they intended to enter. 

Cassandra slunk backwards and disappeared into the shadows of the darkest corner of the room that still afforded her a clear line of vision down the back hall, eyes never leaving the source of this intrusion, and warily watched the young man who eventually succeeded in his efforts and strode in. A suspicious glare contracted her brows as he unceremoniously deposited a bag on the floor before shutting the door behind him. She was quite certain she had heard two voices but, even from there, there was finality in his posture: nothing indicating the expectation of company. The unknown other, while hardly forgotten, was adjusted to a secondary concern as she continued to spy on the dark-haired youth now unwittingly sharing her sanctuary. 

Age was something Cassandra did not fully understand, the systems of numbers and time it relied on being things she had little to no grasp of. But she knew the difference between children, people like herself, and adults. He was like her. A glance could tell anyone he was homeless as well, his own clothes in no better condition than her own second-hand tank-top and thread-bare sweatpants. And his movements were cautiously alert but his muscles were not nervously tensed, his body speaking of more confident comfort than desperate relief. Not new to the streets then, but experienced: once more like her. 

Utterly still, silencing her respiration with short nasal breaths, Cassandra maintained her voyeur status as he rooted around in a box. It did not take long for his shoulders to hang and head tilt, though all likely imperceptible to most, in mild disappointment at the contents. Still, he seemed pleased enough with what he did eventually withdraw.'Book'; a powerfully mysterious word Cassandra knew well. She watched with a fascination that had never dulled as he arranged himself in a sliver of light that revealed clearly the markings on the pages, from which she knew he must be able to draw foreign meaning. 

Maintaining her position for however long it took him to leave would have been well within Cassandra's capabilities. However, while there was certainly anger that shadowed his movements and the promise that he was capable of violence, the girl saw little enough malice in him and nothing that spoke of any formal training or concealed weapons. This boy was not a threat. And the contents of what he was reading that played subtly across his features and form were intriguing; in addition to the verbalization she had some grasp of now, Cassandra knew from experience that getting someone to read aloud also accentuated how they expressed it in her language. 

Curiosity eventually won out over caution and her bare feet padded out in three long, quiet, strides, to bring her directly in front of her unexpected companion. If he could read body language like Cassandra could, her intentions would be clearly nothing but benign. As it was however, combat was her whole world for the first eight years of life and still the only language she was fluent in. The fact that the sum-total of her exposure to the greater world was as a constantly-fleeing street kid had granted her only minimal social growth. She still engaged primarily as a warrior, her movements usually swift, silent, and rough and her mannerisms tense and aggressive. So she appeared quite suddenly out of the darkness, the taut muscles of her bare arms and the map-work of scars covering them thrown in sharp relief by the filtered light coming from behind the boy, and even the otherwise-guileless grin curving her lips made wolfish by the intense stare leveled from the eyes above them. 

"Hi." Coming from Cassandra, it sounded less like a greeting and more like a blunt statement.