luster
Her street name was Mercury. His was Bismuth. Everyone knew from the start that it wasn't going to end well.
He rolled up his sleeves. She tilted her head from side to side to stretch her neck, then twisted her torso both ways, producing two horrid snapping sounds.
He looked down his nose at her low stance, clamping his teeth together tightly.
"Yes, every idiot with an entry-level understanding of mixed martial arts thinks that they could bring the pain," he scoffed, a shadow flitting over the hazel of his eyes.
"Every Puerto-Rican mama's boy with a rosary hanging out of his shirt thinks he could trashtalk the pain out of being brought," she laughed. Seconds passed, then minutes. He was waiting for her to stop laughing, but she wouldn't. She laughed so hard, her voice almost went hoarse. She even began to tear up a little.
"You don't need to do this, man," warned his friend, Marco. He paused before adding, "freaky bitch." But Bismuth was resolute. No one calls into question the shininess of his ice, in which gasoline rainbows swirled and rippled. His ice was worth more than her car. It was worth more than her life.