The Big Applesauce

Sunshine can't say that she's a fan of Manhattan in the wee hours of the morning. Getting up early for work isn't so bad. She's used to it - hell, she still wakes up naturally at four AM more often than not - so it's more of a return to routine than a hardship.

And really, Manhattan isn't inherently more dangerous than Old Town. There seems to be a pretty even trade-off between one being louder and busier but boasting a more homogeneously human population, and the other being smaller and quieter but with a significantly higher chance that the shadowy figure in the alley is not human (and also thirsty for your blood).

Of course, humans can be trouble, too. It's easy to forget that when you're used to worrying about vampires and ghouls and whatnot. So when she approaches the still-shuttered bakery and sees two people lurking around outside, her first thought is that someone's really impatient for some muffins. Then she realizes that they seem more focused on the Radio Shack next door - and that one of them is holding… what is that, a crowbar? A pipe?

Oh. Oh, carthaginian hell. Is she interrupting a robbery?

She pulls up short a good fifteen feet away, but her shoes scuff against the sidewalk and draw their attention. Double carthaginian hell. She stumbles back a few paces, her hand automatically going for her knife pocket - a stupid move, because her tiny knife isn't going to deter a pair of criminals and she can't fight humans, her magic's no good for that.

"Hey!" says the one without the crowbar, starting toward her. Something in his hand flashes. She's not the only one with a knife, and his is out and ready to do damage. Oh, gods.