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Puppies are dicks posted:
Well. Since ramen of ancient and mysterious provenance did not make for sustainable living, Ziva went to do the sensible thing, namely shoving the remains of her laptop, the rest of her tools, and what cash (cards were for suckers and also idiots) she could scrounge up from beneath mattresses and couch cushions into her 'welp, the feds are here' bag. After a moment's contemplation, she also grabbed a nice sturdy (though jagged) board from what had once been her bookshelf. She'd sort through the books later, maybe, but now was probably not the best time. "Hey, Mothman," she called to the demon, who had been sitting by the door, wings droopy, and staring into infinity ever since she'd slapped the DDD back together again. "We'd better bail soon, unless you want to get a nice peek at whatever axe murderer's out there. Unless you want to go all chainsaw on it?" code:"Yeah, same to you, buddy," she continued, giving the apartment one last onceover before going to the window in her bedroom and attempting to pry it open. "So, here's what we're going to do. We're going to say gently caress that thing out there and find a different route. And that different route is..." With one more grunt of effort, the window screeched open - not far, but enough for Ziva to wiggle out if she shoved the loving feds bag out first. "the fire escape! I kept telling my landlord that he needed to keep it fixed, but I don't know if he actually did anything about it, so be careful." She paused. "Also, I think he thinks I'm a druggie." She wiggled the bag through the somewhat open window, motioned for Mothman to follow, and squeezed herself through as well. It took the better part of an hour to get both herself and Mothman out onto the fire escape, and it was still a long way down. Ziva tested the stairs in front of her with the beat-up piece of bookshelf, took a deep breath, and started climbing down.
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Aug 21, 2016 18:52
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| # ¿ Apr 20, 2024 12:33 |
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Ziva Tavernier Of all the people she had to run into, Ms. Powell was pretty low on the list. Not that they didn't get along, per se - they nodded at each other in the hallway, Ms. Powell tried to show her pictures of her dear grandnieces and grandnephews, Ziva politely declined to see pictures of her grandnieces and grandnephews because the one time she had she'd been stuck on the landing leading up to her apartment, with thirty pounds of groceries cutting off circulation to her arms, while she nodded along politely and agreed that yes, little Jackson certainly had very cute eyes and his father's big hands. For an hour and a half. You know, as apartment neighbors do. But still, Ms. Powell was better than, say, an axe murderer, and she clearly needed help, so... Ziva nodded, immediately switching into what she liked to call her 'authority' voice. "All right, Ms. Powell. I know it's scary right now, but you'll be just fine if you stay calm and follow my directions. See this guy here?" Mothman waved a wing and chirped. "He may look kind of strange, but he's harmless." Mostly harmless, she corrected to herself, and then continued. "And he's going to help you get out of here, okay? For now, I need you to do one thing for me. You can do that, right? I need you to move away from your window and take cover. We're going to try and get it open, all right? It might make a bit of a mess, but we'll get you out nice and safe." People, she knew, tended to put their trust in people who sounded confident and in control, and the very last thing Ziva wanted was a hysterical old lady on her hands. As soon as Ms. Powell showed signs of getting the heck out of the way, she nodded to Mothman, who promptly smashed his whole body into it. ZIVA attempts to persuade the OLD LADY with SOCIAL ENGINEERING! 2d6+2 = 4, GODDAMMIT MOTHMAN +4 attempts to destroy the window! 2d6+4=14
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Aug 26, 2016 06:19
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