"Fans, at this time, we ask you all to please rise. Three weeks ago, Americans' hearts were filled with sorrow. Tonight, America is standing tall. We salute all the heroes who have spent tireless days and nights keeping America's hopes and pride alive. Our hearts, prayers, and thoughts go out to the families and friends of the victims of these tragedies. Please, remain standing as we pause for a moment of silence."
Throughout the Giants Stadium, the thick silence was broken only by a very small scattered number of dwindling cheers. That night, in the distance across the Hudson River, the Empire State Building glowed in stripes of red, white, and blue. Fans on both sides of the stadium wore their teams' colors. But outnumbering them by far were the ones decked in the same patriotic hues and carrying tiny pennants in their echoing stripes as they bowed their heads. Some quietly wept. Others lowered their gaze to their shoes, or to the hole in the skyline that they knew would never be filled again. Rather than the common rivalry amongst fans of the sport, that night they were united by one thing; national grief.
For three members of the audience in particular, this brief moment of quietude was particularly striking. They sat, hunched in the shadows above the stadium, in the dark shadows of the billboards surrounding the peak of the blaring, brightly lit valley. The moment of silence passed, and the game began with the national anthem.
"Man," The broadest gargoyle wolfed down a hot dog easily half the size of his arm in one gulp, earfin pricked up as he listened to a man's intense and stirring voice belting the national anthem. "I knew that the towers falling down hurt these people badly. But aren't they supposed to be enemies?"
"Not tonight, they're not." The clever one looked up from his book of complicated football rules. "I guess that sort of thing tends to pull people together behind a common good."
"I guess." Repeated the white-haired one. He stooped with his wings up-raised and tail outstretched for balance as he leaned over the billboard for what he was pretty sure was a famous phone company. "The man singing down there sure has a strong voice. What sort of magic is he using to make it carry so far?"
"Maybe he's a bard." The broad one polished off another hot dog. "You know, like the speakers and poets with the druids in the Green Isle. I've heard they're incredible singers." There was a roar from the crowd as a clot of white and green shapes moved and curled against one another across the field, like a flock of birds forming colorful clouds against the green canvas. The eldest passed his binoculars to the smallest among them so he could take a look.
"What did the referee say?" The eldest asked.
"Penalty in favor of the 49ers. I think that means they get a free kick?" The green one flipped his book open again, scanning the pages for a reference to the rule. He passed the binoculars to the blue one, flicking through the pages with one prehensile foot as he clung to the billboard with his other three claws.
"Man." The broad one squinted into the frames of the binoculars. "This game sure is complicated. I wonder why they have to stop every time they take someone down?"
"Mostly to make sure that when the ball touches the ground or when the player gets taken down, they can mark it accurately. That, and in case anybody's hurt." The clever one replies.
And so the match continued for them, hiding behind the Verizon billboard as they watched the opposing swarms of green and white meet, and clash, following the ball like tiny iron shavings to a lodestone. Tackle after tackle, throw after throw, run after run, it seemed like each spurt of action only lasted a few seconds. The red one found himself getting a little… bored. He rested his beak on his knuckles, eyes beginning to droop.
Being so far away sure made the game less interesting to watch. Seeing it on TV was almost better. But still, without his younger brother's clarification and the help of his small book, it would have been even duller. Out of the three of them, the younger brother had always had the best eyesight. It was amazing what details he could see from even this distance. The way he described it, it was almost as if he were a few feet away, rather than almost a quarter mile.
The white-haired gargoyle finally had enough when they were almost through the second quarter. The team was doing well at first, but his warrior's instincts had begun to tell him that the tides of this battle were beginning to turn in favor of the Foreigners. He sighed, kicking off the billboard and gliding down to the narrow walkway behind it. "Hey, I'm going to go see if we can find any more hotdogs. I think our friend here's eaten all of them."
"Hm?" The youngest one didn't look up from his transfixed stare with his enormous, bulbous eyes down at the field. "Oh, yeah, sure. Just make sure no one sees you."
"Don't worry, I won't be spotted." He waves a casual hand, dismissing the concern. "Besides, who would believe that hot dog vender?" He shrugged with a smirk. He lifted his wings, pointed his tail, and leapt off to glide away from the humans towards the dark of the parking lot.
Inside the stadium, Raphael tugged his American flag ski mask down around his neck as it began to ride up. His neck was a lot thicker than the average human's, and the elastic in this fabric face-sock was clearly displeased by this as it kept migrating north towards his chin. He had to stand on his seat to get a good look at the field as well, and it was starting to get on his nerves.
Why didn't the ooze at least give them six feet? Did he and his brothers have to end up five-foot-two?
He grunted in frustration. Screw this, he was going to go up higher. He put his mittened hands into his deep pockets, fishing around for his shuko spikes. He elbowed his way past the crowd, and started to make his way through the bleachers and down the walkway, towards the concession stands.
He just wanted to cling to the dark underside of those stands and watch the sea of lights forever. The smell of diesel in the air held a newness, an exotic and intoxicating perfume like a lotus to his finely tuned senses. He took the cool, autumn air in slowly through his nostrils and slowly let it out between his serrated teeth.
"Ah… man, I love that smell." His smile seemed to glow with bliss.
New York. It was right in its name. No more dreary, drafty castle with humans too pompous and soft to relish the real vigor of life. Not like this city. These people lived, breathed, and shouted freedom every second of their lives with every movement they made. No one could tell them what to do! No rulers, no kings, no lord in charge of it all to make them roost on the wall by day. They did what they wanted, when they wanted it, however the hell they felt like doing it.
It was a city that sang to his soul with the twinkle, glitter, and glow of its rivers of water and traffic lights. He had, well and truly, fallen in love with 2001.
His claws gripped the iron girder of the stadium as he sniffed again, this time closing his eyes to hunt for the unmistakable aroma of the best of this world's new delicacies; the sidewalk hot dog cart frankfurters. His finely tuned, bloodhound-like sense of smell did not fail him. He kicked off from the girder, leaping from one to the next like a squirrel between trees. Lithe and quiet, he kept his wings pinned in a narrow A-shape. The further he kept his wings spread, the noisier his glide. He had to be quiet for this operation.
He sniffed again. "Right where I left you."
It smelled like he was down to about half the hot dogs he'd had before. He felt disappointed as he snuffled in the darkness two hundred or so feet away; no more chili dogs. Or onion sauce. Oh well, it wasn't like his rookery brothers were horribly picky eaters. He folded his wings and curled his tail around the crossbeam, swinging into a much more comfortable upside-down position while he waited patiently for the hot dog vendor to leave his cart unattended.
It didn't take long. The hot dog man stood up with a stretch, lazily leaning against the stem of the red and yellow umbrellas over his cart. He started to get up to leave his cart for a moment, probably to use the restroom. The gargoyle tensed, ready to drop down and make a dash for the goods, when he spotted a figure approaching the hot dog cart.
The figure was upwind from him. Short with an unusually bulky coat, wrapped up head to toe, he sauntered up to the hot dog vendor. The gargoyle contained his disappointment. He could wait until after he–hold on a moment…
The gargoyle sniffed the wind. A new smell was in the air. Not human. At least, he didn't smell like any human he had ever encountered. There was a subtle sort of stink about him, like the odor of a deep wet place with no light. His eyes narrowed, clouding over with a whitish glow. Something was different here.
"One please, with lots of relish." Raphael handed the hot dog man five bucks.
The hot dog man, a moon-faced human with a frame to match, took the money and picked up a dog with a greasy pair of tongs. "How's the game?"
"Lousy." Raphael grunted. "Jets have shit defense this season."
"Shame." The hot dog man sighed, shaking the bottle heavily before squirting relish across the dog. "I was hopin' for a win tonight. God knows we could use one. You want that wrapped, or in a boat?"
"I'll take it wrapped. Thanks." Raph took the foil-wrapped dog, and stuck it in his pocket as he began to walk away.
"Hey, watch yourself tonight, eh?" The hot dog man called. "Plenty of nutcases get piss-drunk at these kinds of games. You don't wanna run into any weirdos in the dark like this."
Raphael scoffed. "I can handle myself."
The hot dog man sighed, putting away the roll of foil. "Whatever, man. Just looking out for a–" He looked up and blinked in surprise when he noticed that his customer was gone. He looked around, leaning out over the counter as he tried to spot the man who he swore was here only a moment ago. "Huh." He scratched his head with the hot dog tongs, moon-like face scrunched in befuddlement. He shrugged, wiped his hands off on his greasy apron, and decided to put it out of his mind.
The gargoyle far above watched the human leave the cart and make his way towards the privies on the other side of the parking lot. His mind had been on food, but now his attention was caught on the whatever-it-was that managed to vanish into thin air, right in front of him. If it hadn't been for his keen smell, the winged hunter would have most certainly lost track of him.
He let go with his tail, wings snapping open to fill with wind like a parachute as he landed lightly on the ground. He slunk towards the hot dog cart, claws making short work of the flimsy aluminum door latch. Stuffing a plastic bag with all the franks and buns he could grab, he was in and out of the glare of the street lamp in a few short moments. He quickly scaled the scaffolding again, but instead of returning immediately to his brothers, he scoured the night for any sign of the stranger. A pensive growl rippled in his gullet. At least he had the stranger's scent, now. He could find him later on in the night if the game ever got too boring.
A gargoyle's curiosity was not something easily waylaid.
Back at the billboard, the red one opened the bag of spoils for his brothers. "Oh, delicious!" The smallest one grabbed a frank and a bun, and began to eat. The larger gargoyle grabbed two fistfuls of the stolen goods and scarfed them down in a split second. "I am never going to get used to how good the food is in this century!" He said around a mouthful of bread and sausage. "Fhankff, bruff'r!"
"Huh? Yeah, no problem." He barely stirred, eyes fixed in the direction of the hot dog cart, and the vanished stranger.
"Hm? Whash fa ma'er?" The blue one mumbled, crumbs falling from his lips.
"I saw something odd while I was waiting for the merchant human to leave." He muttered. "Someone who was definitely not a human."
"Another gargoyle?" The green one asked, bulbous wide eyes opened wider.
"Maybe." The eldest affirmed. "I dunno yet."
Raphael hugged his body as close as possible to the steel standard of the scaffold. His shuko spikes hooked onto the bolts and welds of each girder as he scaled the stadium, arms burning with the effort. But, of course, he relished the challenge. What ninja turtle wouldn't?
Hand over three-fingered hand, he made his way up the one-hundred and forty feet of steel beams until he could reach the narrow maintenance walkway. With a grunt, he leapt five straight feet into the air. He landed noiselessly on the catwalk, just as the crowd erupted with a cheer. A few feet higher, and he had found himself behind a flimsy billboard on the 49ers side of the stadium. He lowered himself into a comfortable squat, peering around the vinyl sheet advertising Hollywood Video. The blare of the stadium floodlights drowned out the darkness behind them, where he hid in its comfortable veil.
The third quarter had started, and the Jets looked like they were beginning to lose. What a disappointment. He shook his head as he pulled the hot dog from his pocket. He unwrapped it, rolled up his ski mask, and took a big bite. "Terrific. The one time we were counting on you to kick some shell, and you land flat-footed." He muttered around his food.
His heart thudded behind the plastron of his shell. His eyes narrowed behind his ski mask, muscles bunched underneath his trench coat.
He had no idea how. And he had no idea who… but he felt like he was being observed.
