Smash and Grab

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace liked the rain. She always had an umbrella in the pocket of her minivan’s driver door and a rain slicker under the back seat. The slicker was, naturally, heart-pink and glossy with the rubber sheen of truly waterproof wet-gear.

Whenever there was real rain—a serious downpour—Shimmerlace would quit whatever she was doing, lace up a pair of white duck boots, strap on her layers of waterproofing, and stroll out into the gray. She never had a particular destination in mind. That was part of the point: To walk aimlessly, pleasantly alone, through a huge, loud space like a storm, and to wind up somewhere unexpected.

Shimmerlace had no particularly detailed plan for how she would meet Angelina Tarrant. That she would meet her, outside of LAW, after Fight the LAW 2 was a given, and she had familiarized herself with the records and gossip she could find online about the Marauder’s haunts. But in truth, Angie was a hard woman to trace beyond her matches, and the best Shimmerlace could hope was that sooner or later she would get lucky.

The search became part of Shimmerlace’s daily routine. She was not the type of person to respect duties, per se, but commitments to food, to training, to showing up for her matches all took their irresistible slices of her life. Still, every day she spent at least an hour, often more at this or that urban haunt. The Ebisu Garden Plaza would host her on Monday, and she might be spotted in her white coattails and pink ponytail getup at Roppongi Hills historic bookstore on Tuesday. She was always alone, perhaps carrying a book, but she never read. Instead, she found a perch, somewhere high up like at the balcony seat of a restaurant, and watched the people mill by.

It was getting to be noon in Tokyo in the late summer, and after a long and unsuccessful morning, Shimmerlace had planned to drive home to beat the heat. But when she got to her car, rain began to splatter, drip drip, on her windshield, and she had collapsed in her seat. Part of her considered napping, the splatter of rain a hypnotic beat to drift her away. Her own apartment, even after the gibbet, was not an easy place to sleep these days. But if she slept in a position like this, she’d wake up to a side itching like army ants were carving away at the still-angry laceration in her side.

Instead, she lay with eyes half-lidded in her chair and stared over the steering wheel. She enjoyed the sound of the rain, enjoyed the hugeness of Tokyo extending for miles in every direction, lost herself in the details of the gleaming storefronts and skyscrapers around her tiny parking lot. It felt very different from Marseilles, this cramped island city of 14 million, bursting at the seams with spice and food and color and magic and waste and refuse. No wonder Angelina took so much time to explore it, often enough with Thistlebro on her shoulder. It was a shame, Shimmerlace realized, she'd never herself let the rabbit get to know the city where it would likely spend its entire life. But then again, the slicker and umbrella only provided so much shell, and rabbits are sensitive pets who do not tolerate much rain.

In spite of her better judgment, Shimmerlace felt herself begin to slide from consciousness into a black space where a pirate ate a rabbit whole so she could be a shell that would keep it dry in a squall.

[Monsy]

Some things really do slow you down. Here you are, sitting on a park bench, enchanted with foreground shrubs to your banks and fitted stone passing you by. You hold a hand gripper, black, with soft black foam eating into your palms, squeezing and unclenching a second after your knuckles feel a pop. "Damn." Take a breath. Try again.

The past few days were calm.
Days off, they said. Hah. That cruise was somethin' else. First time, but she spent most of it wrapped in a bruise cocoon. Those blankets, though, were heavenly. She just wished it was less laying down and more climbing the top of that bitch of a ship. It would've been a sick video. Aye, but Tokyo is better.

Speaking of which…
She got a chest mount for cruising through leaves. After her bench break, she took off again on a longboard, turning the leaves into ballerinas alongside a sparkling river, Tokyo at the helm overreaching trees. This blend of baby blue and white reflections, mint green, splashes of pink, leading into silver, porcelain white -- then blue again. The urban rainbow. That's one to post.

Tomorrow is another day. She gave Thistlebro a good brush and snuggle that night. Watched some movies. She even showed him the watch she scored off a businessman. His pen sits on her pink and black trunk. The so-called hoard. Well, part of it. It was almost impossible not to bump into things in her room. It's that type of cozy. Her Queen-sized bed is front and centre, with a small walking lane around it, a dresser in one corner, posters, a closet, and a chest on the end of her bed. The pen is always open. Sometimes she woke up with a fluff on her chest. The next night it's a random kick in the face. And holy fuck -- her curtains are ribbons.

She took him out to Tokyo Dome that day in a carrier backpack. Longboarded to save him the bumps. You wouldn't believe who she met.

"Angelina!" Said a child, waist height, crashing into her hip and making her curl as the bruises bit.
"Aaaah--" Angelina winced, "Hana. Hey."
"I haven't seen you in forever! Where did you go?"
"Orlando. Aka. Pirate land."
"Pirate -- Oh, what's that on your back?"
Hana walked around, and Angelina, looking over shoulder and careful not to jerk one way to perturb the curious prince. The little one seemed to bubble up into dimples when she saw it, getting close to the visor where their noses nearly met.

"That's--"
"A rabbit! Oh, he is so cute!" Hana put her index finger on the visor.
"His name is Thistlebro."
"Thistle..brooo… Mama! Papa! Come see!"
“Mama and Pap-ooh…”

She wanted to shrivel up when sighting two stiff-looking middle-aged folks. But, they seemed younger once up close. They were both taller, though the woman was not by much. She dressed in a long skirt, striped shirt, and the man in his loose jeans and tight black shirt. It was a bum kinda day, huh?

"You are Angelina, yes?" The father said.
"Yeah. Sup?"
"S….sup?" They looked at each other, seemingly bemused. Angelina did her hands behind her back.
"Ah, it just means hello."

They smiled, and the father nodded. "Sup. Huh. Anyway, we heard from Hana that you two are becoming friends. You returned her to us when she wandered off. We would like to apologise for thinking you were trouble. The -- uh…” The man tapped his head, and Angelina peered up, tapping the tip of her horns, "Oh. Ma' horns. Don't worry, I get it."

"Still, we would like to apologise."

Hana pulled on her arm, pointing out.
"I wanted you to take me on the rollercoaster."
"Oh, uh --" Angelina looked between Hana and the parents. They seemed to smile about it.
"She said you liked fun things." The mother said, "And well, if it doesn't take up much of your time, then."
"They're babies and too scared to go on it!"

The parents chuckled, "We'll pay for the ride."
Angelina looked at Hana with a raised brow. Just what are ya getting me into Kidderino? Ya parents look like they wanna kick my ass.

"I…" Then, looking at those puppy eyes, she relented, "I just need someone to watch my stuff."

"We can do that. Your rabbit looks curious and happy." The mother said. Hana already bent over to pick up the board and started turning, whacking Angelina in the calf with the big soft wheels. "Ow-" Then she swiped the board and tucked it beneath her armpit. One moment later, Hana had already latched onto Angelina's freehand, and they walked together. Thunder Dolphin was a kick and a half. It mostly involved putting a hand over Hana's eyes, hushing her as the ride became too much, and she looked to be gasping from the air pressure hitting her face. When she got off, though, hoo--

"That was great!!" She cried out, still holding Angelina's hand, and Angelina rolled her eyes as Hana went on about how she had to calm Angelina's fright down. Still, it was a blast. Got some nice shots too high up. All four of them got lunch together, chatted, and eventually, the two were off to play some games at the arcade. They got two hours or so, and she put it on her phone timer. Thistlebro came along too. Had to feed him but then he jumped out and started hopping around, chased by little Hana as Angelina scurried behind them both, internally screaming. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. It was a close call on her sanity. But it's this that Hana pointed out while cupping Thistlebro's torso.

"Oooh. A pink-haired lady."

Angelina, feeling spent, slowly inched onto her knees to collect Thistlebro. Luckily there was a thicket of people around this arcade. Bustling noise drowned out voices from a few feet. Yet, red and pink stuck out like autumn leaves in summer. She peered out and soon found a wee fairy in the rough.

"Good eye, Kidderino. That's my good friend from Pirate Land. Very good friend. Why don't we play a game with her?"
"With the pink one?"
"With the pink one. Ya climb on ma' shoulders and tell me if she gets closer or farther away. The trick is. Ya can't let her spot ya watchin' her, k?"
"But what about the arcade?"
"Well, tell ya what. Win this game and we can catch a movie tonight, deal?"
"Mm… deal!"

Getting Hana to sit on her shoulders was easy enough. Half on the backpack, half on her nape, holding her horns. She found it hard to stand, even when using a nearby bench. Not because of Hana's weight. It's just her whole gut nipped like a motherfucker. There's a reason why she wore thicker hoodies for now. Thankfully, she had a cheerleader to help her up. Go Angie! Go! And once there, it became much easier, and they got out quickly. She just had to skirt by a few clumps of people, take a few turns, and then make a straight shot back to the rendezvous point with Hana's parents. She left soon after getting their numbers, some hopes of their plans, and saying goodbyes.

She didn't expect a yes from them. Yet, low and behold, she was hitting the theatres that night. Whatever Hana liked. Angelina's Japanese was passable in following the plot and most of the dialogue, but some points were messy. She carried her notepad to follow subtitles, though this soon devolved as buttered popcorn made holding the pen impossible. It gave her pause to think of Shimmerlace. Came a little too close that day. Tokyo Dome was popular, so that may be a coincidence. Hm. Probably. But the question was still too tempting not to ask. The next few days were great. She got together with some local acquaintances, and they toured local places in more obscure neighbourhoods. Some parks too, for Thistle to hop in. Secret little gems. Good food, good folks. Domo arigato.

On the third night since, she picked up a nice shot of Tokyo Square from a rooftop with Thistlebro, feet over the edge, gobbling up squished noodles. Crystal-clear night. Weird to think -- once we tried baiting the dorkstick, it bought zilch. Girl would pop in a pool of bubblegum. So, why was it hard now? Coincidence -- bullshit-cidence. Still.

"No, I am not obsessed with her. I'm just checking." She said to Thistlebro, hopping around.
"Whateva' ya say, Angie Wangie."
"Oh, shut up. Get in the bag before ya scare the neighbours."

Tomorrow was an easy day. She hit up a mall to grab a few new shirts. She ended up layering them under her hoodie and leaving without a word. Pirate Jesus knows the workers ain't paid enough to care. Went over to a music store afterward -- peepin' at the drums. She needed to head home to see if it would fit anywhere. But when she got outside to the curb, rain laughed on her day and turned it grey—the type of rain where it's like little slaps and needle pokes. Your clothes get sticky in seconds, and your hair melts into your neck. Her hand went over her eyes, looking around. There again. She spotted something—a little dash of pink in tinted van windows.

Right when she stopped luring, the bubblegum fish bit. She thought of a thousand ways to handle it. Most of them involved taking her board and giving her a good whack. Though, no board today. And -- she's getting soaked. She could slash her tires. Eh. That wouldn't solve anything.

Mm-- When times like these arise, sometimes the most stupid question brings the most compelling answer. Gotta start somewhere, ya? So what if she walked up to the van, getting a little drenched in the process, peeked at the driver's window, and gave it six soft knocks?

Knock
Na-Knock-knock.
Knock-knock.

"Hey, pink!”

[Malkavia]

By the time knock knock hit the window, Shimmerlace had sunk deep into REM sleep. She was a pail of muck tugged out of a well.

Which old fuck’s interrupting the nap?. Optimistically, it’d be some do-gooder checking that she wasn’t dead; more likely, it was a security officer primed to complain about loitering. Either way, it would mean stumbling through Japanese. Watashi wa nihongo ga hanasemasen, cunt.

Splip splap. The rain had picked up. Between the blear in her eyes and the wet on the window, it took her several seconds to take in the details, yet her reaction was instantaneous. The silhouette alone stirred something deep and violent.

“NNNG!” Her hand slammed to her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue. She could taste blood. Her vision careened, eyelids uneven, a chunk of her brain still stuck in dream-mode. Shimmerlace could feel her heart racing in her ears.

Of course She’d find me in the lame-fuck minivan. Honda Odyssey, 2017. It was a silver 7-seater, a vehicle Mom of Five might use for carpooling. Shimmerlace had planned to bedeck it with flowers, roseate paint, cherry-blossom ribbon, the gossamer wings of the Court but—

A third glance confirmed: Angelina was sickeningly real and getting more soaked by the tick. Shimmerlace could have started the car and accelerated away. She was tired. The bags under her eyes almost seemed to pulse. Not to mention that she’d practically shat her pants with Angelina watching, so finding a hole to crawl into had its own appeal.

Instead, she reached across the passenger seat and popped the door.

”Well…Get out of the rain, then, cunt.” Big sigh. The hornets in her heart had finally started to settle. She put both hands on the steering wheel and glared at the Marauder. ”Also. The name’s still Shimmerlace, by the by.”

[Monsy]

“Ohayō, butthead.”

That’s a reaction alright. Holy shit. She bit her lip, tipped her head down to look at her soaking shoes as Shimmer whipped like a spooked cat. Be nice. Beeeee nice. Wipe that smirk off your face. K. Turning back the clock, her smile now subtle and stationary as Shimmer assembled herself into functional order. Didn’t think to find her in a minivan, true. But. It’s one more minivan than she had. Quite fitting for a magician -- a fairy to fit her tricks in one mobile garage. What kinda goodies are in here?

She moseyed around to the passenger side, got in as instructed, easing herself down rather than plop, shutting the door and sinking back into the seat.

“Cool, cool. My name’s still Angelina Tarrant, believe it or not. A.T if ya fancy.” She wiped her forehead with her wet sleeve. Then leaned forward, stripping her hoodie down to a cropped red tee underneath, and another black shirt underneath. And that’s just what can be seen. Shirt tags all stuck out, and she seemed twenty pounds thicker. She started snapping the tags off one by one, peeling the stickers and stuffing them into her pocket like no one’s business. “Sorry. Just finished shoppin’. Saw ya when I came out, thought I’d say hi to the scion in the wild. How ya feelin, by the way? Ring fingah workin? That cut heal alright?”

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace gripped the wheel—not that she was headed anywhere. Though. How would Angelina react if she started driving? Would that spook her? This was a shit spot to talk, crap van in a crap parking lot.

“Hm? Oh—” The Scion shook her head. “Aye, ol’ finger number nine. Sure, it’s grand.” Contracting the digit still shot an ache up her metacarpal as, according to the doctor, it likely would for months. But she could wrestle. Shimmer glanced at Angelina, then looked back over the wheel. “Side treating you aight?” This sort of exchange passed between many LAW competitors, she imagined, though probably usually with fewer hostages clogging the backstage.

The rain had become furious in Chofu City, and the roar pounding the windshield required Shimmerlace to shout. Tokyo, which had been bustling, became ghostly. The rain rubbed out all but nearby streets. Storefronts hung as shadows in the distance, and although cars' headlights continued to float through the streets, nearby sidewalks were abandoned. The ever-present tangle of overhead wires carved violent black arcs into the fog.

As she stared, listening to Angelina’s response, Shimmerlace drummed her fingers, from left to right, then curled her toes in the same motion, all the while steadily controlling her breathing. Angelina was not carrying Thistlebro. Given that the Marauder approached Shimmerlace, she could say that with ninety percent certainty. No problemo; Shimmerlace hadn't been counting on Thistlebro being present.

One more deep breath in, slow breath out, and Shimmerlace reached back to the middle seat. She had to stretch, but she pulled a box stuffed with costume and clothes onto her lap. “So. We got a rare opportunity here…” She dug through the layers of purple, pink, and white, cotton, lace, and spandex, until she found it: A black rain parka and umbrella. “...to stalk Tokyo in the rain.” The fairy managed to meet Angelina’s eyes, glancing up at an angle from her box. She even forced the smallest of smiles. “Got all the wet-gear here you could dream of, and if not, then there’s more in the back. Jindai-ji temple’s about twenty-minute walk. Don’t know about you, but this all looks pretty fuckin’ magic to me, so. You comin' or what?”

[Monsy]

It sounded like someone playing bongos with wet hands, where the windshield is a sizzling element, hissing and thudding that bass thrum — kind ya get when you’re by yourself, in an empty room, and you throw a tennis ball at the hardwood floors — memories of coming over, listening to a lofi playlist and a suitcase. Pleasant, if not inconvenienced by the half-open room window and the damp floors. She looked out her window, then sank back into her seat after taking off her extra shirts, using them to pad her black leather choker, fidgeting until she simply took it off, rolled up into a ball and set it down on her lap. Almost feels naked without it. Her thumb reaches up, scratching the side, pressing over a soft patch as she rolls her head meanwhile.

Proper answers are hard to come by here. Sure, she can say anything. And if they reached over to squeeze, she’d probably squeal and keel over. But. No need to fret when there’s no threat. Yet. “My side...Is alright. Nothin’ naps and ibuprofen didn’t fix.”

Honestly. She wondered what she was doin’ here right about now. They weren’t driving and nothing broke out. God seemed to spill his smoker lungs into the street, exhaling after a good draw that filled a city. Now, she found herself glancing, mid-ponder whether she should start fiddling with something. Maybe play with the radio, see what comes up? CD’s?

“Oh?” Angelina asked, popping her brows in a bit of theatre. Colour her curious. When met with the proposition, she pointed out the window with her thumb, then pointed at Shimmer and lastly, herself. A grin soon met. “Magic sounds fuckin’ awesome right about now. I’m down. I'll pass on the rain gear, though. Am already wet, so might as well get the premium soaked package.”

She pulled the door handle, but was more careful in how she got out, then stood there with the open door, looking back in. “Besides. I got a change of clothes here already. I dunno the way, so, ya the Captain of our rain dance.”

[Malkavia]

The correct thing would have been to follow the Marauder’s lead into the wet. Crawling into the back to retrieve wet gear—Shimmer had done it dozens of times, but Angelina watching made her feel stupid and slow.

Fuckin’ mess. Not that anything was out of place. She could picture the back-seat cup-holder holding her main makeup kit, and she could have found her pink and purple wigs (neatly folded in plastic) at a moment’s notice. Mirrors, props, and other delicates had one one padded section of the car, costumes another.

When the slicker wasn’t where it was supposed to be, Shimmerlace’s grip on the minivan’s carpet grew tight. She always kept her slicker under the leftmost of the middle seats—seat #3, as she’d dubbed it. She could feel Angelina waiting. Thinking. Mulling it over. She must have been suspicious, even if she wasn't showing it. Shimmerlace licked her lips, slid further down the gap between the front and passenger-side seats. There it was. It had just been shoved further back than usual.

Before long, Shimmerlace had assembled the fully rainy day regalia—duck boots, nylon leggings, rubber slicker, rubber gloves, rubber hat, and goggles—all pink and white as a coterie of flamingos. Once she stepped into the torrent, not a drop slicked through to her skin; she was like a crab, splunking about in her own private theater. Awash in the thrumming of droplets on her hat, she trod through a floating world, spectating from within a thick bubble.

“Aight, well.” Shimmerlace turned to Angelina, shrugged her arms out like a scarecrow, then let them slap against her sides. The coat obscured her face, so Angelina wouldn’t know if she were smiling. A dozen things to say crossed Shimmer’s mind, but she settled on “On y va, cuntess.”

After this, She walked on in silence, splip, splop, leading the way through the urban maze towards one of Tokyo’s lesser known temples. Sometimes they passed other pedestrians with high, spindly umbrellas, but neither party would take any notice of the other. Ships in the night. As for Angelina—she didn’t drop any canisters belching smoke; she didn’t knee her in the back or charge up a building wall and descend with a head-splitter of a moonkick; she did not get bored and slip into the fog.

A current developed along the street’s banks, soon becoming a deep stream, dragging silt and what little litter the citizens of Tokyo produced into the sewers. At a crossing, these currents merged into low ground, forming a small lake of rainwater that looked to be a third of a meter deep. Pelting rain kept the surface of this lake rough. Shimmerlace paused at the sidewalk’s edge. She turned her head left, then right. The small intersection was abandoned. The wind gusted, strong enough that she had to push back as rain pelted her bubble and her clothes pressed tightly against her body. She breathed deep, covered her nose, then bent her legs at the hip and—

SPLOOSH! She dove with both feet. A wave erupted, slicking Angelina’s calves. Shimmerlace sucked in air through her nose for a heartbeat, then pivoted her head and looked through her goggles straight into Angelina’s eyes, gauging from behind her mask the Marauder’s reaction.

[Monsy]

Well. She expected a coat or somethin’.
Gotta keep pretty and dry. Preferably, without a cold too. But when Shimmer full-on left to the back seats, Angelina lifted her brow, walked to the seat edge, put her hands on the cushion and leaned over to look over the console at Shimmer’s rummaging. Colourful place, aye. Buncha stuff strewn, decked out to make the magic glimmer and sparkle, huh? Wasn’t her biz, so she tapped out, waiting outside, arms spread, looking up with closed eyes and teetering around in a circle. Heel to ankle, swinging her legs all the way out, then back in and around, turning over twelve to six. She went around the front, to their side where she occupied the next parking slot -- starting up a small whistle until Shimmer came out.

Ah. Would ya look at this colourful fairy? Dolled up for the rain. Ready to ward off all little droplets by the tip of her hat and jacket. Goggles too. Her eyes grew and she tilted to one side. One brow lifted, but she resets soon after, more interested than perplexed. Ready to roll nonetheless.

“Lead the charge, Capitano.” Off they go. It's mostly wading through gentle, moist but slightly obscuring mist. The kind where wind and lack of sight makes it feel like you’re swimming in a very thin medium of constant water. It pelts her exposed arms, legs, but her done-up boots kept her feet from getting that annoying-ass squeak in her socks. Store-fronts were a little sketchy, the few that there were. She pictured those indie horror games she spotted her brothers playing at times, low pixels, sparse streets. Only REALLY did over-the-shoulder stalking -- but it looked fun. And while she stewed around in memories, waiting for Shimmer to out why they’re on their walk, she came to the crossing, walked onto the white column stripes until being splashed. Her legs get a tickle as water coats her leg. She jumps like a cat, giving a loud squeak. “BWAAH!” Once the shock was over, she frowned as her gaze snapped between the puddle and Shim, twice, “Oy! What’s that fo’ ya dorkstick? Coulda’ declared war first.”

Then she lunged, one, two and hopped, splashing into the same bank to give Shimmer’s armour a wee spritz. “Hup! Sweet revenge!” Then, having looked up to Shim’s goggles, she sprung a look with that same frown, serious eyes and a quirked brow.

“By the way. Last one to the otha’ side is a filthy comet.”

Then, she took off. ZOOM!
Hadn’t tested out her running skills since the fight, and she just about went full tilt -- er, tried. Amidst a few headlights, staring stragglers and a burning side from the twisting and jarring, it was clear she had about fifty percent go to give. Could that be enough?

[Malkavia]

The Pixie had to squint to make out the signals. Angelina’s hair and clothes clung to her like damp moss, stretched, flattened, shrunk, and her body was closer to silhouette in the foggy light than a three-dimensional figure. Goggles didn’t help. In spite of that, their eyes met. Violet on Pink. The feychild clenched her fists.

DING DING DING!

Shimmerlace dove across the street. Her body leaned at a diagonal, her thighs pumped, her boots crashed through the water. In spite of tightly lacing the boots around waterproof leggings, the force of her footfalls pumped water inside her footwear. Each footfall crushed brownish green street water between her toes, and later it would slosh and spleck as she walked, but for now her arms kept swinging, and her eyes narrowed, fixed on violet gold.

Shimmerlace started from behind and felt the drag of her outfit, her lacerations and barely-set breaks, dragging her back and rusting her joints. But Angelina moved with the same stiffness, and Shimmerlace gained, inching closer. For a brilliant, roseate blink of eye, Shimmer’s heart fluttered—

She lost her balance. She tasted not only water but felt the hard grit of silt on her tongue. Cold and slimy slid down the inside, soaked her corset, slithered over her thighs. Even then, her hands scraped against the asphalt. Half crawling, half heaving to her feet, she stumbled and then tumbled through the streetwise pond. A cuss formed at the back of her throat, but, failing to find the word, Shimmerlace just growled and spat while Angelina darted out of reach.

[Monsy]

Shin deep super-soaker’d!
Man did that parka seem so nice now. She’s all shiny black and clothing ripples now. Shorts that ride up your thigh. Imagine getting back in that van. Though, Shim didn’t look any better. She’s on anotha’ fuckin’ scale going the opposite way from shit to weird. So much goddamn pink, even from this proximity. Pink on the eyes. Pink through her whole jacket. Pink on the damn boots. Cool shit -- but, can the Scion still keep up? Ready -- set --

ZOOM.
Hot out the gate. She heard those squeaky duck steps. Might as well be a siren shouting ‘HEY I'M GONNA CATCH THE MEANEST FUCKIN’ COLD’ -- ditto, but it was great. First kick she had all day and it’s from a dozen-metre race. Once it started hurting, she took that, accepted the challenge and gave it more gas. Her legs pick up, light on her feet like she can suddenly pedal the air, landing on her toes, slipping in her soaked flats but still kicking. Forty percent effort. Fifty. Sixty. Keep pushing. Her head is then lured by this bass-sounding splash. She looked over-shoulder, slowed down to a jog, stopped at the other side where the road met the sidewalk. “Oy!”

Angelina snorted, had a laugh as she came bolting over, trying to catch Shimmer’s shoulder, hook with one arm and LIFT up to dodge seconds of asphalt pie.

“Easy, yo. Ya need an upright mast if ya wanna sail.”