Like the buildings own personal gargoyle, Edward crouched atop it and stared down at the lazy scrawling of the human world. It was warm that night, a dry wind that only added to sweat instead of cooled. A bead of sweat slid behind the mask before becoming absorbed into the material and added to the dingy and now grayed façade. The squeal of tires were faint beneath the roar of the cities sins, thick and toxic it left the faint taste of bitter spices. Behind the faceless mask, the man studied the gaudy neon sign as it shuddered it’s color and vile sex filled promises of naked women. He scowled darkly and could still taste the tuna fish sandwich he had earlier. The neon sign buzzes loudly in his head and for a while all Edward can hear is the thrum of a crying child.

Rising to stand, Reed crossed the rooftop and quickly scaled down the rickety fire escape to land solidly in the neighboring alleyway. His ragged shoes are immediately soaked by the pot holes of soiled water left over from the previous rain a week ago. A gloved hand goes to the collar of his trench coat caked and dried with previous blood, sweat and mud and tugs it up slightly before pulling his fedora down. There’s no point in checking the time, he’s not wearing a watch and no one going to stop for a man in a mask. Slipping out into the street with his head slightly bent and hands in pockets, he’s simply one of the immoral prowling the streets for entertainment. Tonight, he’s only Reed.

He brushes shoulders with a passing drunk, a barest of touch that sends the man spinning awkwardly to shout obscenities at him. The younger man reeks of alcohol, smoke and vomit and it evades Edward’s senses like a returning enemy. Two other men pause and glance behind them and realize through their clouded memories they are missing a drunkard to their trio. One yells at his friend and the other laughs foully before stumbling on the invisible cracks in the sidewalk. The man doesn’t listen and continues to berate Reed and follow him in order to establish his dominance. In his state, he is king of the right side walkway and he would be damned if a lowly peasant doesn’t give him the proper respect and lays a hand on the slender shoulder of Edward.

The drunk hits the ground and the back of his head strikes the pavement with a sickening thud. Blood pours from his busted nose and for a moment he’s drowning in it, gurgling against the crescendo of pain that’s managed to break through the cloud of booze. His friends are not so swift to his side but they scatter around him, one nearly tripping over his legs as they confront the stranger. One attempts to pull a punch only to have his hand caught and twisted behind his back to the point of snapping, pinned by the strong grip at his elbow and a sharp kick to his backside sends him floundering into his fallen friend. The third clumsily staggers forward and brandishes a small pocket knife. He staggers away with it buried in his shoulder.

Behind the mask, Edward breathes heavily and the revolting disgust is nearly indistinguishable. He trembles slightly but not out of fear but of restraint. No one pauses as they hurry along the sidewalk avoiding the fight as much as they can and it only turns his stomach more. “Scum.” His voice is low and hoarse, a simple affirmation justifying his violent reaction and he kicks the closest drunk as he climbs to his knees only to be knocked back down. Edward leaves them to pick up the broken pieces, slipping to cross the street between parked cars towards the gaudy neon sign.

OOC: No tags please, just playing by myself for a little way to get the hang of my own character.