[color=#F660AB][h3]La Buitre[/h3][/color]
[color=#F660AB][b]Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.[/b][/color]


[@Chiro][@ClokwerkDukk]

La Buitre. Bruja. Maneater. “That Bitch”.

These were all her titles to claim, and ones she wore with pride. And why shouldn’t she? It was by her hands that criminal after criminal had been detained, or otherwise taken care of. When she swept through, she was a tidal wave of pure, unbridled spiritual energy, decimating those who dared to step into her path. 

She feared no one. She was a force of nature.

And as she watched the villain burst into the bank, she thought of how easy it would be to make him pay for putting innocent lives at risk.

Unfortunately for her, however, she was quite dead. 

Salbatora Lea Ciervo’s time had long since come and passed. And what a whirlwind of a time it had been! If there was still breath in her lungs, she would have sighed. She had accomplished so much, and went out with a bang; a very literal one, to say the least. A supervillain had planted a bomb inside the stomach of a civilian, and in her attempt to rescue them, she had died alongside them. She had been lucky enough to have bore not just one, but [i]two[/i] children before her death- a set of twins- and had left the world without any regrets, but there were times where the nostalgia set in and left her entire being feeling hollow. 

Nevertheless, now was not the time for reminiscing. Her eyes turned towards her niece, who was currently trying to sneak up to the bank’s front entrance, despite the fact that she wore the most eye-catching costume known to man. 

Sweet Esperanza. The girl was capable of so much. The power that thrummed through her veins was the same that had flooded Sal’s when she had lived, honed and whittled from its raw matter until it was the sharpest of blades. If she could [i]just[/i] work up the will to use it fully, then- 

[color=#F660AB]“STOP!”[/color]

Well. At the moment, Esperanza had a...bit of a ways to go. Though no matter how long it took, both Sal, as well as the rest of the family, would be there to support her all the way. 

[hr]

If someone had somehow gone without noticing the brightly-clad figure bursting through the doors of the bank, or their shout, they would most certainly notice the sudden drop of temperature. What had been the normal amount of chill that got pumped out of the AC of every bank known to man had taken a sharp downturn, turning breath into mist and raising goosebumps left and right. 

[color=#F660AB]“I have come to stop you from robbing this bank Mr...Mr...I do not know what your name is, but I am here to stop you and capture you!”[/color] The figure’s voice was stilted, awkward, heavily accented, but determined nonetheless. It- or, rather, she- attempted to throw a pose, dramatically thrusting a hand towards the sky, though the sheer vigor of the movement caused her to stumble a bit. 

It did seem to accomplish something, however. Multiple sets of ghostly hands would appear to suddenly materialize, reaching for different parts of Mr. Gimmick. Two pairs had appeared at the gun, attempting to yank it downwards and out of his hands, and others still rushed forward to grab at his limbs and hold them still. 

If they made contact, one would notice that the hands would feel about as warm as blocks of ice, despite feeling just as what they seemed- hands. Disturbingly human hands, some with missing fingers or parts to them.