Collisions

There's a particular satisfaction to be gained from stopping a mugging without mugged or mugger ever being entirely certain you're there.

Clair's missed being a ghost, the suit enabling her to be invisible in the neon-and-rainwater lighting of inner city Philligan, almost transparent against the gloom.  Like her namesake, you have to which pattern to look for to see her at all.  Purse safely restored to its owner, she takes herself halfway up a wall and takes advantage of a ledge barely an inch wide to perch and rest, and watch.

"I need some help with interior decorating." Hank was going to do everything in his power to track Whistle down and tell her that. Assuming she was somewhere locatable.

He might mention that there were two men in bright outfits with severe grudges following not five hundred feet behind him, or he might leave that to her to figure out.

Leslie Wilson sat in one of the many seedy bars one could patronize, sipping a beer. She wasn't in costume tonight, though she was ready to take a job on a moment's notice. She had her phone handy, should anyone wish to call her. Also, despite having her alternate identity, Sniper, Leslie didn't really invest a great deal of time and effort in concealing who and what she was. What was the point? The only relative she had any involvement with was more than capable of protecting himself, and making himself nearly impossible to find when he wanted to.

Casting a glance to where people were playing a game of darts, she found herself getting rather annoyed with a couple of the players, bragging about their apparent prowess just for hitting *near* the bullseye. Sipping her beer, she cheerfully imagined throwing darts through their skulls.



((OOC: Anyone who wants to bug Sniper and is in Philligan is welcome. ^_^))