( By day, unassuming artist. By night, protector of New York City.

You wouldn't think it if you saw her, small and sweet, currently sitting cross legged on a bench in Central Park, sketchbook spread across her lap and her pencil sliding carefully over the paper. You wouldn't look at her and think she was anything but a young girl quietly drawing the old couple having a picnic across from her. That's exactly what she wants. Because she's not drawing them exactly, but the man further behind. He's lurking by a tree, practically out of sight, jacket bulging with a file she knows has the names of suspected Enhanced. She has it on good authority he's one of Valentine's men, a vigilante with a mean streak a mile wide.

Part of her wants to approach him now, wants to slide the Lightsaber from inside of her jacket and force him to hand over the list, leave him missing a finger or two as warning to her father. Doing so won't get her any closer to finding him though.

Doing so won't get Jocelyn back.

And so Clary stays still, carefully sketching the shape of the jagged scar over his eye. She doesn't look up when the bench beside her shifts with the weight of another person, just stays bent over her work. ) You're late. ( Her voice stays low, conversational, the shape of her words hidden by her hair. She pulls the page free, carefully so as not to tear it. She then pulls her bag to her lap, obscuring the view of her handing the paper over. Clary busies herself with packing up her belongings, runs a hand through her fringe and plasters a bright smile onto her face. ) You tell your guy that if he leads them to Valentine he better call me, or you'll all be looking over your shoulders.

( Not so sweet then. )

( Clary's not really a clubber. She used to be, before all of this happened, when she had a fake I.D. and a heart that held all the love in the world for her fellow human beings. She'd met Jace in a place just like this, his eyes catching hers across the crowded dance floor. It had been a different time, she'd been a different person.

People talk, when there's alcohol involved, and so she's trying her best to put aside her unease and the memories that dog her steps and look approachable. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't worn a dress that made it impossible to hide her weapons, but that made people talk too. It definitely had the desire effect on Topknot-Tim, the guy who was chatting her ear off about some shady activity that had gone down in his apartment building the other day - how some guy with sparks shooting out of his fingers had gotten into an argument with a blonde dude and been bundled out of the fire-escape. Topknot-Tim definitely doesn't think he's come back, and Clary's just trying to pry his address out of him - she doesn't really want to have to go home with him to find out - when the explosion rocks through the club.

She ducks on instinct, glass blowing over her head and smoke filling her lungs making her cough. Distantly she hears someone scream, and she blinks trying to clear her vision as people ( Tim included ) stumble past her to the exit. Clary curses, thinks about following him, but there are still people inside and she can't just leave. So she does what she can, stumbling towards anyone who seems to be in need of her help. ) It's okay. I'm here. Give me your hand.

( She finds her way to the alley easily. Clary isn't surprised it's him, not really, somehow they always seem to find each other even after all this time. It doesn't matter if she hadn't been looking. Currently he's demanding something of a cowering Enhanced. She doesn't know who the guy is, just that he looks afraid, and guilty. Presumably he's actually one of the bad guys - Jace is somehow still valiant about how he operates, even with Valentine whispering into his ear. But she can't know for sure because of that. He's been tricked before. And so she's silently approaching him, catching the end of his rough command, the Enhanced's plea.

Jace's lightsaber is a thing to behold, when it glows to life, a rich gold that lights up the alley and throws shadows all over the place. She knows he's not about to strike a killing blow, but it doesn't stop her from sliding her own free, closing the gap and catching his on the downward swing with her terribly pink one.

( She has so many regrets, and not holding off for a more badass colour is one of them. )

They connect with a sharp noise and she watches surprise flicker across his face, allows herself the vicious thrill it produces, before she smiles bright and cheerful even though she's anything but. ) Hey Jace. Seen my mother lately?

( This is the thing that killed them. Jace's denials, Clary's certainty. Even as she asks she can see him leaving her apartment all those years ago, each step taking him closer to the centre of Valentine's web. )

( anything you want just go for it. or if you'd like to plot a little first, i'm at athosing )