And if you go, angels will run to defend me

[threetowonder]

The Other's been wandering Chicago, finding places to stay here and there, occasionally visiting a homeless shelter. It's more interesting that way. But with the mentions of violence in his journal, he's of the opinion it's time to make his way to one of the safehouses that have been mentioned

Comments

[liberatechicago]

The apartment complex is being watched, too. It's not a hot spot like the Conrad Hotel, but there have been rumors that this place gives rooms to only Wanderers.

Four teenagers approach John. One of them sneers at his umbrella.

"Lose something?"

Another one hisses, "Freak."

[likes_pears]

Oh, this... This isn't good. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he says, wariness in his voice as he watches the four of them.

Oh, he's afraid... He feels very small and human, suddenly, ridiculous with his umbrella. But there's a tickle in the back of his mind, a certainty that one man with an umbrella can do a great deal more than most people would give him credit for.

And the umbrella itself is a comforting weight in his hand, painfully familiar -- it's not some little collapsible thing, but something very nearly sturdy enough to be used as a cane, if the situation warrants. Not the best weapon, no, especially not against four young men who seem to be looking for trouble, but he's not quite as helpless as he looks.

Perhaps that'll be enough. Most likely it won't be. But he thinks of Rose, and it's enough to keep him going. She's on her own out there -- her or Cassandra, which is even more horrifying, because who knows what she'd do

[liberatechicago]

"You exist."

"You don't belong here."

"Your kind killed my dad."

The hate and contempt in their voices does not waver from voice to voice. The fourth boy remains silent.

They surround him. The shortest teen plays with a switchblade. The tallest approaches and reaches for the umbrella. The silent boy moves to kick John in the shin from behind.

[likes_pears]

"My kind, is it?" Don't think about it, something urges him, just move. Some part of his brain that's still got a bit of Doctor in, something that can tap into reactions he doesn't know he has, and all he can think to do is keep talking and not think about what he's doing.

"Englishmen? Schoolteachers? Humans?" He sidesteps out of range of the one moving behind him. "That's always how it is, isn't it? Throughout history. The Jews, the Arabs, people who're unlucky enough to have a different skin color or religion or place of origin." The umbrella turns smoothly in his hands, away from the one who would grab it, and he doesn't have enough free space to turn and run, but he can try, if they'll just give him an opening...

"It's easy, isn't it? Reduce people to a 'kind', and they're not people anymore; what they've done or hasn't done doesn't matter. You don't have to find the ones responsible, after all, because anyone will do, as long as they're the right kind.He's one skinny man, umbrella held in both hands defensively, words pouring

[liberatechicago]

The four move in closer to John as he speaks. There is no sign that they are listening to what he says. If they hear any of it, it has no effect on them.

John's umbrella hits the hand holding the switch blade as he passes it between his hands. It drops to the street below, but the other three took the move to be an attack on them (not that they needed to wait for one) and move in closer.

The tallest aims a punch at John's face. The one to the left of John aims a punch to his gut at the same time. The third waits for a good time to aim a well placed kick.

The silent one scrambles for his precious switchblade.

[likes_pears]

John Smith is many things, but he's not a fighter, not really. And half-remembered skills with an umbrella only take him so far. He manages to get the umbrella up to swat away the fist aimed at his face... Which leaves him wide open to the gut-punch.

He crumples slightly, and that's when the kick connects, taking him to his knees with a muffled cry.

He's never experienced pain like this, not really... Even being punched in the face by Des, new as it was, was nothing compared to this.

...And it's only going to get worse.

The umbrella nearly slips from his hands, but something in him makes him keep clutching it. If he can use it to get to his feet, if he can get some distance...

It hurts.

"Please... don't do this," he gasps. He's trying to scramble to his feet, and he doesn't want to start swinging wildly at them... But he's running out of options.

[liberatechicago]

One of them kicks out his legs from under him. The tallest starts jeering, hanging back to watch the other three go to town on this Wanderer scum. Then the other two step back when the silent one gets his switchblade and steps up to take John's collar.

"Cut him!"

"Yeah, carve him up!"

"Do it! Fuck him up!"

Switchblade boy decides to go in for an eye.

[likes_pears]

John goes down again, and for a moment, the umbrella slips from his fingers...

Only for a moment, though.

"I... asked... politely." He grabs hold of the umbrella and brings it up, swinging wildly. Something in his head is screaming, Not like this!, almost drowned out by adrenaline, and something he's dimly aware has to be panic.

All that matters is getting the knife away from his face, and he no longer cares who he hurts while he does it.

His grip isn't what he'd like it to be, not with the awkward position, or the pain radiating from his gut and legs. One good hit will take it out of his hands, and then... Then he's helpless.

[liberatechicago]

The switchblade kid gets his arm hit by the umbrella as his hand curves in toward John's face. The blade might hit John's face as the arm runs off track, but John's eye is safe.

For now.

He kicks John and reaches for the umbrella. When he gets a good grip on it, he tries to pull it away from John.

The tallest kid steps in to help disarm the freak.