Post by LOVINA VARGAS on Dec 4, 2011 22:46:17 GMT -5
There was once a time in World city, when the streets were paved with gold. Now all that remains of that once utopian concept is a few dying bums in the gutter. Truthfully, Lovina Vargas was used to this sight. It wasn’t as though World City was easy on the eye. Filled with murderers and crooks of the cruellest nature the city was rather infamous for its crime rate.
But that’s where she came in. A costumed crime fight but not a hero, Lovina refused to call herself a hero, she couldn’t save everyone therefore she didn’t deserve the title.
No Lovina was a vigilante. A night walker, a shadow dweller someone who could try their best and fall short without the judging eyes of the public. Lovina spent most of her nights tracking down the bastards of the city and releasing a fresh batch of justice. Of course, she (unlike some vigilantes) never killed the criminals she fought. Lovina wasn’t capable of murder, she simply beat them to a bloody pulp ad dropped them off at the police station, leaving behind only her calling card.
Of course powers helped. And the gift to control lightning was her most powerful weapon. One she’d use without a second thought. Physically she wasn’t a strong human being, but with her power she thought herself almost invincible.
Tonight was no different and as she stood, perched gracefully on the tall wall Lovina - or ‘Lady Lightning’ the name her costume entailed her - watched the city below. It had been quiet tonight. It was almost too quiet. She jumped from her sitting position and landed carefully on the tip of her heels.
Her costume (like most heroines) wasn’t exactly modest but it was perfect for getting the job done. Easy to move in, the little brown mini dress which complimented her chestnut looks almost perfectly ended mid thigh. The only colour, the lightning insignia which was decorated on the middle of the thick black waist belt and the matching black brass buttons, her arms were almost bare except for the long black glove that wandered halfway up her right arm, and the smaller brass knuckle encrusted fingerless glove that stood more boldly on her left. Her legs were protected by a pair of long stockings that attached themselves to a pair of short shorts that sat underneath her skirt.
And to protect her identity, she covered her face with a simple little black mask defined only by a tiny lightning insignia.
Sighing grumpily she followed the dingy back street slowly as the scuffle of feet and muffled cry of pain echoed from the other end. Someone was in trouble, and she was going to help.
