No more holding us down [R for violence]
Pink Sheep RPG
Eloise jolted as an arm fell heavily over her shoulders and she turned to glare at the human distillery leaning on her.
"Wheezy Midgen," he said, laughing. She shrugged his arm off, her gaze going to the swirling amber liquid in her glass. Paul fucking Boles had hated her since Hogwarts. While she was there, he had made it his life's work to cause her trouble.
Arse likes to strut, she thought as he backed away a bit.
"You would not believe how ugly this girl was in school," he was saying to the room at large. Some of the patrons were watching with morbid curiosity, the rest of them - the ones who knew who he was brassing off - had their eyes averted.
"You know, they say that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain," Eloise said with a small, forced smile as she rotated on the barstool. "They are, of course, wrong, as you will soon discover when I hit you with this." She lifted the whiskey bottle sitting in front of her and raised it to show him. She waited for his eyes to drop to the label before swinging, hitting him squarely in the face.
The bottle shattered sending liquid and glass flying. His head snapped back, and he took two steps for balance, but he stayed on his feet.
Not as drunk as he looks, Eloise decided, sliding down from the stool.
"You little bitch."
He strode forward, ham-sized hands clenched in fists, his boots slapping on the floor. Eloise had one thought.
Shit.
She was fast, but Paul hadn't lost any of the brutish skill he'd had on the Quidditch pitch back in his day. He didn't hit Eloise so much as mow her down. She hit the hardwood floor with the enraged former Beater on top of her. He outweighed her by a good seven stone, and most of that was muscle. Pinned, she couldn't avoid the bare-knuckled punch to the face, or the short jabs to her side.
She did the only thing left to her. She fought dirty. She clawed, going for his eyes. At his howl, she rammed her fist into the exposed throat. He gagged, choked, and Eloise had room to move, to jam her knee between his legs.
But when she tried to roll, crawl, fight her way clear to her feet, Paul slammed Eloise's head against the floor.
Through the pain, the blurred vision, she could see a kind of madness on his face that had panic setting in.
Then she was fighting for air as meaty hands closed around her throat.
Her burning lungs couldn't draw air, and her vision was dimming and doubled. She gave up clawing at his hands and groped for something, anything she could hit him with until, by blind luck, her left hand came in contact with the broken bottle. She wrapped her fingers around the neck and swung. The glass shattered, slicing up his face and her hand, and cutting small lines on her face as the shards fell.
The pressure on her throat released, and the horrible weight on her chest lifted. As she rolled to the side, retching, she could hear Paul screaming.
Her ears were ringing like klaxons and she spat blood. She struggled to her feet, though the red still swam at the edges of her vision, holding onto the edge of a pool table for support and wheezed in another breath that felt like broken glass inside her throat.
As he straightened, wiping the blood from his eyes, Eloise groped for something to hit him with, her hands closing around a pool cue. She took a firm, two-handed grip on the pool cue and resumed hitting him with with manic resolve. After all, there was no sense in holding back.
Groaning, he shielded himself with one arm and lashed out with the other; an effective technique as it turned out. He slung both arms around her waist and attempted to pull her down. As she fell, the pool cue slipped from her bloody hands and skidded across the floor. Before she could reach for another, she froze. Pain, followed by numbness blossomed from the middle of her back and her legs went out from under her, sending her toppling to the floor.
Through fuzzy eyes, she saw Paul collapse down beside to her.
The last thing she heard before she blacked out, was the bartender ordering someone to get them the fuck outta here, before they wreck the whole place.
Eloise woke up alone, curled in a puddle of blood so big that she knew it wasn't all hers. And that brought a self-satisfied smile to her face. Bloody bootprints marked her opponent's wobbly path from the alley and out to the street and she rose gingerly, feeling along the walls until she could follow them out.
Luckily she was still in a part of Knockturn where no one would glance twice at a bloodied person. She made it to her flat without being stopped and stripped out of her sticky clothes, heading straight for the shower. Every inch of her was stinging or throbbing, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
As she toweled off, she noticed a stranger with a misshapen face scowling from the mirror. With a sigh, she opened up the cabinet and rummaged around for a pain killing potion. The damage to her face - her nose was broken, if she wasn't very much mistaken - and her hand was beyond her ability to repair. She would need to see a healer.
Dammit.
[Summary: Eloise gets in a fight. Show of hands, who is surprised by this?]
Eloise jolted as an arm fell heavily over her shoulders and she turned to glare at the human distillery leaning on her.
"Wheezy Midgen," he said, laughing. She shrugged his arm off, her gaze going to the swirling amber liquid in her glass. Paul fucking Boles had hated her since Hogwarts. While she was there, he had made it his life's work to cause her trouble.
Arse likes to strut, she thought as he backed away a bit.
"You would not believe how ugly this girl was in school," he was saying to the room at large. Some of the patrons were watching with morbid curiosity, the rest of them - the ones who knew who he was brassing off - had their eyes averted.
"You know, they say that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain," Eloise said with a small, forced smile as she rotated on the barstool. "They are, of course, wrong, as you will soon discover when I hit you with this." She lifted the whiskey bottle sitting in front of her and raised it to show him. She waited for his eyes to drop to the label before swinging, hitting him squarely in the face.
The bottle shattered sending liquid and glass flying. His head snapped back, and he took two steps for balance, but he stayed on his feet.
Not as drunk as he looks, Eloise decided, sliding down from the stool.
"You little bitch."
He strode forward, ham-sized hands clenched in fists, his boots slapping on the floor. Eloise had one thought.
Shit.
She was fast, but Paul hadn't lost any of the brutish skill he'd had on the Quidditch pitch back in his day. He didn't hit Eloise so much as mow her down. She hit the hardwood floor with the enraged former Beater on top of her. He outweighed her by a good seven stone, and most of that was muscle. Pinned, she couldn't avoid the bare-knuckled punch to the face, or the short jabs to her side.
She did the only thing left to her. She fought dirty. She clawed, going for his eyes. At his howl, she rammed her fist into the exposed throat. He gagged, choked, and Eloise had room to move, to jam her knee between his legs.
But when she tried to roll, crawl, fight her way clear to her feet, Paul slammed Eloise's head against the floor.
Through the pain, the blurred vision, she could see a kind of madness on his face that had panic setting in.
Then she was fighting for air as meaty hands closed around her throat.
Her burning lungs couldn't draw air, and her vision was dimming and doubled. She gave up clawing at his hands and groped for something, anything she could hit him with until, by blind luck, her left hand came in contact with the broken bottle. She wrapped her fingers around the neck and swung. The glass shattered, slicing up his face and her hand, and cutting small lines on her face as the shards fell.
The pressure on her throat released, and the horrible weight on her chest lifted. As she rolled to the side, retching, she could hear Paul screaming.
Her ears were ringing like klaxons and she spat blood. She struggled to her feet, though the red still swam at the edges of her vision, holding onto the edge of a pool table for support and wheezed in another breath that felt like broken glass inside her throat.
As he straightened, wiping the blood from his eyes, Eloise groped for something to hit him with, her hands closing around a pool cue. She took a firm, two-handed grip on the pool cue and resumed hitting him with with manic resolve. After all, there was no sense in holding back.
Groaning, he shielded himself with one arm and lashed out with the other; an effective technique as it turned out. He slung both arms around her waist and attempted to pull her down. As she fell, the pool cue slipped from her bloody hands and skidded across the floor. Before she could reach for another, she froze. Pain, followed by numbness blossomed from the middle of her back and her legs went out from under her, sending her toppling to the floor.
Through fuzzy eyes, she saw Paul collapse down beside to her.
The last thing she heard before she blacked out, was the bartender ordering someone to get them the fuck outta here, before they wreck the whole place.
Eloise woke up alone, curled in a puddle of blood so big that she knew it wasn't all hers. And that brought a self-satisfied smile to her face. Bloody bootprints marked her opponent's wobbly path from the alley and out to the street and she rose gingerly, feeling along the walls until she could follow them out.
Luckily she was still in a part of Knockturn where no one would glance twice at a bloodied person. She made it to her flat without being stopped and stripped out of her sticky clothes, heading straight for the shower. Every inch of her was stinging or throbbing, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
As she toweled off, she noticed a stranger with a misshapen face scowling from the mirror. With a sigh, she opened up the cabinet and rummaged around for a pain killing potion. The damage to her face - her nose was broken, if she wasn't very much mistaken - and her hand was beyond her ability to repair. She would need to see a healer.
Dammit.
[Summary: Eloise gets in a fight. Show of hands, who is surprised by this?]