Mostly because I felt like going back an editing this. The start of my writing exercise where I do horrible things to my characters:
A shadow detached itself from a building’s edge and raced across the street. A moment later another slightly shorter shade followed until both were in an easy lope into the historic districts of Old Angeles.
Fences and ‘no entry’ were given less than a passing glance by the two, each slipping between links and ducking under chains and padlocks.
With the moon looming and round it was easy to see the subtle change in scenery as the duo made their way. Liquor stores became dilapidated churches and litter ridden lots transformed into parks with adobe walls. As the two rounded a corner a fortress like gate appeared, wrought iron and twice the height of a man it barred their path. The first shade didn’t pause, but hoisted himself up, hands and feet on the gargoyles and celtic crosses twisted into the metal.
The second however stopped, her dark grey trainers bouncing in place against the pavement. “Thomas, what are you doing?”
“Depuis quand une clôture peu nous a arrêtés?” He twisted his head and teased, still ape-like perched on the gate. “It is little fence.” Thomas added in french slurred english, knowing her understanding of his native language was rusty. He suspected she only used it when he was in town.
“Thats a graveyard. Un cimetière.” Gwen stopped bouncing and placed her hands on her hips. “C’est dangereux.”
“Ne soyez pas effrayé, les fantômes ne sont pas réels.” He grinned at her before monkeying up the rest of the height and launching himself over and onto the manicured lawns running.
Gwen groaned silently and began to climb less enthusiastically than her fellow. But cameras and guards are…