[OOC: 100 prompts - Touch]
038.Touch
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: Myra Reldon/Ming Dwan, The Shadow, unnamed henchmen
Word Count: 606
Rating: PG
Summary: Myra and The Shadow stage another fight.
Author's Notes: So, this is inspired by a part of one of The Shadow stories where Gibson actually describes the throat hold The Shadow uses on a female captive as velvet. It’s a strange wording that really struck me as almost uncharacteristically seductive, for a lack of a better term. However it was truly intended, I went with a more utilitarian use of the gentle grip. When I have access to the stories later, I'll update this blurb with more specific information.
I've been uncertain about posting this, but it seemed interestingly timed to evillurks's recent prompt.
Myra wouldn’t be the first to think of The Shadow’s threatening hold on her neck as velvet, though the powerful grip could clamp down like iron in an instant . To the few followers she had been put in charge of as Ming Dwan, the stoic coolness of her gaze as she was held in that grip was awe-inspiring; to The Shadow it was proof of her trust. Using the leverage his hand gave him at her jaw, he appeared to almost swing her around like a doll to use her as a shield. The move had been choreographed in that brief moment Myra had stared into his piercing eyes, and she moved smoothly with the motion. Her hard eyes came to bear on those who stared at them, guns and knives drawn, but stilled for fear of harming their mistress. The calmness with which Ming took her newfound captivity gave them courage, but only enough to utter guttural threats at The Shadow. They were not marksmen enough to risk her life.
Then, in a tango that they had danced before, Myra turned, slipping free of the illusionary choke hold and beginning a struggle with The Shadow that he drove slowly toward the only exit in a hallway that would otherwise spell doom if Myra were not between himself and the small crowd in the cramped, well-lit space. No doorways led to safety here, except the one that was behind him.
Suddenly, a shot rang out and one of Ming’s crew fell to the floor wounded, The Shadow’s smoking gun poking around Ming’s side, his wrist in her grip. To all appearances she had only nearly averted death by The Shadow at a distance that should have spelled a certain end for her. Continuing the farcical struggle, the silver weapon waved and blinked in the light until Ming and The Shadow were nearly to the opposite end of the hallway. With a final shove, The Shadow disposed of his human shield, allowing her to keep the trophy of his massive automatic as he deftly opened the door behind him. With their mistress lying out of range on the floor, a hail of lead raced into the dark, empty doorway, meeting only laughter. Their flesh and blood target had vanished into the night.
With a snarl the firing stopped and Ming rose, rubbing her throat carefully, and clutching the massive weapon in her tiny hand. Harsh words rained down on the ears of those she governed as she waved the winking .45 in their faces, watching as they cowered beneath its gaping muzzle.
Dismissing the crew, Myra turned back to the door that sat ajar, waiting for a signal that came in the form of a twinkle from a familiar jewel that sat at the left hand of her Chief. Making certain they weren’t watched, she slipped outside, leaving the door open enough to keep an eye on the hallway. As she stood in the darkness, a large magazine, heavy with the weight of ammunition was slipped into her hand, as were a few spare bullets. Nodding, she slipped the used magazine out of the gun, and reloaded it.
“Bring it to the meeting tomorrow night.”
“Understood.” Slipping the second magazine into her sash, Myra returned to the empty hallway, locking the door behind her and holding her prize at her side as her other hand rose to touch her neck. At the tribute ceremony to the new leader of the Chinese underworld tomorrow, she would bring the shining silver automatic of The Shadow. She would not be surprised if he made an appearance to reclaim it.