may;
i don't give a damn about my bad reputation [eddie blake & mindy macready ]
but there's nothing more sadistic than an infant waving his pistol in my face [ allison cameron & mindy macready ]
doing what they do best [ brian moser & mindy macready ]
the thunder of stampeding rhinos, elephants and tacky tigers [ claire bennet & mindy macready ]
june
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Evenings like this, Cameron usually finds someone to walk her home; or perhaps more appropriately, she's often escorted, whether or not she wants to be. Truth be told she doesn't really mind, in general. It's nice not to be alone; and though she's much better at taking care of herself these days, there's still safety in numbers.
But with the reports of violence thinning out as the night wore on, and the endless proclamations of the uncursed Citizenry that they'd fight for justice and the safety of their fellows, she's become perhaps too bold. It's not a long walk, and she's armed; how bad could it really be?
Bad enough that even though the street is deserted and fairly well-lit, she can't shake the feeling she's being watched. Cameron walks steadily, looking calmer than she feels, everything she's ever learned about self-defense running through her mind. It's not enough, though; or perhaps it's the City working against her, dulling her perception just a little. Her attacker is on her before she knows it, a little flash of light in his hand telling her he's armed as his other arm folds around her throat, stopping her in her tracks.
"Don't think about screaming," he mutters darkly, and she nods. She's weighing her options; wondering if she can get to her gun before he realizes what she's trying, wondering if she has the guts to go through with it anyway. People aren't sheep, even if this one is equally inclined to hurt her.
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But the gun finds it's place when Mindy's patrol through the City brings her to intercept a scene seconds from folding into a bloody meeting. She's cloaked herself behind the shadow of a elm tree, one of those greeneries planted awkwardly to make the urban jungle look less metal and brick. Mindy doesn't know that Cameron carries a gun with her, only observing them through monochrome colors. Good and Bad. Victim and Bad Guy. It doesn't take her long to deliberate on her next move, snapping out the gun for a shot to the mugger's head. She's a damn good shot, the bullet sweeping through and making perfect mark.
A bunch of idiots, these criminals.
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She stumbles back a few paces instinctively as the body falls to the ground, whipping around to face the direction the gunshot seems to have come from, clutching her purse in shock and in case the newcomer proves not to be a savior, but a bigger predator.
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She exits the eclipse of the shadow and continues walking toward Cameron, stopping just close enough to allow her a cushion of comfort. A panicked person is an irrational person, and Mindy knows she needs space to shake off her nerves. Hopefully, the voice of a young girl wouldn't be too alarming.
"You okay?"
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The City is no place for children. It's bad enough for adults, violent and dangerous and eternally uncertain. She's always worried, privately, about how it might warp the lives of young people unfortunate enough to end up here. It isn't that she's unaware that some are warped to begin with; it's a matter of principle, one more thing to resent the so-called deities for.
This little girl is a murderer.
"I didn't even see him until he was..." She winces visibly, swallows hard, her tone low and trembling with incredulity. Cameron isn't accustomed to this sort of fray. A bit of shock seems forgivable.
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Here? Maybe. Truthfully? No.
She doesn't fault Cameron for her nerves, but she's not the type to waste time stalling. Those few seconds were ample enough time and space for anyone, and Mindy steps off to the side-- ready to once again dash out of the scene. Her attacker was dead, the woman was saved, and her job was done. Simple and clean. Of course the lines don't lie so neatly for the Doctor, but that's nothing of Mindy's concern. In fact, it doesn't even cross her mind.
"Well, next time you know better, Doc."
Oh, she knows who you are, Cameron. Then again, the hospital staff aren't invisible about their positions. Information easily accessed. However, Mindy won't give much of a chance for equal investigation of her identity, having once again stepped backwards into a shroud of shadow. The only clear detail is the gleam of her knife slipped into her belt.
"Keep your eyes open and don't be stupid." she adds, nothing but cockiness infiltrating her voice.
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The rest of her, true to form, is worried for the girl's sake. This is no place for a child, no kind of behavior for someone so young. "Thank you," she says quietly, taking a slanting step forward-- towards the girl, away from the dead body. Cameron can't even look at the dead man, though she doesn't doubt his image will haunt her anyway.
Then, before the girl can go-- making a perhaps obvious appeal to childish ego-- she asks one of the more important questions on her mind.
"Who are you?"
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"Me?"
This is one of her favorite lines. Movie magic, lights and camera, and attention moments with a grin in half exposure in the pale gleam of the moon. The wind (or so she imagines) whips her hair in that snapshot ideal, billowing out as she speaks.
"I'm Hit-Girl."
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"Thank you, Hit-Girl," she repeats, with a half-step back to indicate that she's about ready to be on her way. Under the circumstances trying to follow the child home seems like a Bad Idea, and Cameron's clever enough to notice that, though she'll certainly be keeping her eyes open from here on out.
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