The wind whipped at his pale face, staining his cheeks a harsh red. The leather goggles dig into his rounded cheeks, protecting his honey coloured eyes. His lips are held in place by sharp pearly teeth, in familiar grooves .The man's obsidian hair is pulled back into a bun on the crown of his head. His simple ash coloured zipped up hoodie clings to his frame under his tightly sealed leather jacket. His worn blue jeans fill with prickly icy winds.
He was almost ready, He knew the routine inside and out. The man could see the faces of the anxious, shocked onlookers as they gaped and pointed hurrying to get out of his 'splat zone'.
When he started, only an hour ago, no one knew what to expect, it started as his first performance in a year. Nothing to complicated, Novices play but he was a master. Just an old slight of hand, swapping the nine for the eight, coins disappearing and then his apparent finale,
"Now ladies and gentlemen, guys and gals, Corey," laughter ripples through the crowd as they edged forward waiting to see how he would wrap up his performance - it was practically impossible to top his previous show. Almost drowning before waking up breathing fire, then magical floating spheres of light and finishing by taking all of his criminal 'volunteers' money and giving it to its rightful owners, that was one hell of a show.
"Now if you would focus your attention onto my nimble and slightly singed hands,"
The man flicks his wrist and a purple flame springs up, along with an applause, a smirk grows and his head turns to his stretched fingers.
A small shout escapes his throat; he shakes his hand, causing the flames to flicker into an ocean blue. The man's whiskey coloured eyes dart around his surroundings. He lunges forwards to a woman's glass of water, his hand plunging inside, the flames instantly disappear.
"What? T-" His voice shakes, before he sucks in a deep breath, "that was supposed to be a dove. I promised a dove, didn't I?"
A collective yes replies to his paled form, his eyebrows jump up, and his head tilts as though debating something, "why not?"
He reaches into his jacket pulling out, brown goggles and putting them on. The man hops up onto the ledge, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd, "I'm going to just grab that dove..." he trails off and leans back till he's falling.
This brings you to where we started off, falling. The man was about the height of two lampposts, when everything really started.
The man pushed himself forwards, his back arching as a bubble forms around him bringing him up, up and up.
His limbs mime swimming towards the skyscraper, the bubble following. As he finally levels to the ledge he sees what he was waiting for, the crowds delighted, shell-shocked and utterly thrilled faces.
That is the reason he doesthis. That is his inspiration
