What an odd vantage point for a human, to peer into a window eleven stories high.
The gravity of the situation strikes Kiyoko and she sways, grows instantly dizzy, and throws her back against the cold brick to steady herself.
Whoooaaa!the pigeons coo.
Inside, Athena the boxer alerts. Once Kiyoko has steadied herself, she resumes sliding to her right.
Athena sees this and realizes a distraction is needed for that sweet woman Kiyoko, the one with the smiling soul. Athena knows that Kiyoko needs to pass the window undetected.
Athena growls. Raises her hackles. Runs to the elevator shaft, and barks barks barks.
There is nothing there, of course, but the frazzled guests turn their attention that way, and it gives Kiyoko the distraction she needs to slide past that window.
She eases right.
She eases right.
She eases right.
You’re there, the lead pigeon sends to Kiyoko after a few more slides to the right.The window you need is behind you.
Kiyoko tries to kick in a lead glass window backward, barefoot, numb from cold, standing on a ledge eleven stories in the air.
She is not surprised when it does not work.
She can hear, even this high in the sky with the roaring wind, the zealots protesting loudly below, the paparazzi shouting and snapping photos. Thankfully, with this new moon, she still has not been spotted.
The pigeons coo, gently reminding her she must focus, and quickly.
Kiyoko inhales, exhales. Five times.
The one bracelet that she pickpocketed that she didn’t place in the paisley pillow, JUST IN CASE. It’s on her wrist. It is a ring of diamonds.
She eases it over her hand and down into her fingers, telling herself,Do NOT drop this.
She almost drops it.
Kiyoko pinches the bracelet and etches the window. One tiny scratch after another. The diamonds don’t cut through the glass, but they score it enough to weaken it.
She is patient.
She is a glassy pond.
A glassy pond that needs shattering.
The diamonds make awful screeching noises that irritate her pigeon friends. Kiyoko feels ill. What if this doesn’t work?
She eases the bracelet back onto her wrist and removes the cotton sash from around her waist. Her garments flow free and wild in the wind, whipping around her already unsteady legs. She wraps her hand in the sash, chances a glance over her shoulder, sees the markings where she’s weakened the window, and she punches.
It only takes one punch to drive her hand through the glass. A few more punches around that to widen the hole. Her knuckles burst apart in pain. Blood is immediate.
Glass rains around her bare feet. She has one shot to duck inside, into this gaping mouth of sharp glass. She will certainly be sliced deeply as she eases through.
But if she miscalculates this movement, she plummets to her death.
Five deep breaths.
One.
