From her spot on the sidewalk, Jewels could see the front doors of not one but two bars. In a half hour, they'd close and people would come streaming out, drunk and stupid and fairly adventurous. Maybe a little turned on after a night of flirting or unhappy at the prospect of going home alone. Any of those scenarios were just fine by Jewels. She was a working girl and drunks were by far the easiest clients she had. Some of them just ended up rambling for an hour or so and paid her for that, so long as she pretended to listen and offer a few words of comfort and sympathy about how their wives didn't understand them/work didn't appreciate them/kids didn't respect them
( ... )
Which was all the opening the mugger needed, really. Darting out from between the buildings, he grabbed onto Jewel's gaudy blue alligator-skin purse, yanking it off her arm and firmly into his grasp.
"Hey!" Jewels yelped, trying to grab for the strap and missing. Most of her money was stashed into her calf-length boots, but there was still enough in there (not to mention her stash of condoms and lube), that she didn't want to lose it. "Motherfucker, give me back my purse!"
Yeah, he wasn't about to lose a fight over a purse with a hooker. The guy clocked her upside the head with the heel of his hand, causing an explosion of pain in her cheek, and then took off down the street with his prize. The hooker started caterwauling up a storm, calling for help, for someone to stop him. He shot a quick look over his shoulder to make sure that no drunk idiot was going to take her up on it.
No, no drunken idiots were giving chase. But that glance backwards was enough to send him stumbling into a still-very sober young woman. One who could sometimes be in idiot, especially about things like this.
Kathy managed to eel out of way at the last second, pulling an almost Dante-esque maneuver as she narrowly avoided the collision.
"Slow the fuck down," she snapped at him. "You nearly fucking ran me over!"
Yeah, Kathy didn't take well to his language. Or his tone. Or that he'd attempted to push her. And even though she was most definitely not a hero anymore, there was a woman shrieking about her purse being stolen--and somehow she doubted that fake blue alligator skin was this guy's style.
"You have no idea," she agreed, grabbing onto his wrist and using his momentum to shove him into the brick wall of the building he'd just tried to shove her into.
The mugger hit the wall with enough momentum to bounce right back off it, forehead knocking against the masonry. He was more surprised then hurt though, staring down at the skinny Asian girl with incredulity. "You some kind of fucking crazy?" he asked, looking down at her.
"Quite possibly," Kathy answered, because she was pretty sure anyone with a head full of zombie memories didn't exactly qualify for sane. "But this isn't about that. I just don't like muggers."
Her fist lashed out and landed hard in his solar plexus; the mugger folded neatly in half and started gasping, trying to force air back into his lungs.
Hands on his knees, he let the purse drop to the ground. His first priority was remembering hot to breathe. His second priority was to teach this crazy bitch a lesson. A pop upside the head like he'd given the hooker, maybe, or a backhand across the mouth. Something.
His chest finally unlocking a bit, he pushed himself upright and drew back a fist. "You're gonna...wish you didn't..."
"I'm just gonna stop you right there," Kathy told him, and lashed out with a fist again. There was a crunching noise as it connected with his nose and blood immediately began to pour down his face. "Save the monologue for someone who cares."
Of the few and mostly unsavory skills he possessed, the one he was most proud of was his ability to take a hit. Though this tiny girl packed a surprisingly mean punch, he wasn't about to punk out after a few punches. So, with one hand still tight around his aching nose, he took a swing of his own.
Only to have her practically dance out of the way of it, her high heels clattering out a staccato rhythm on the concrete. But her dodge didn't give him the time to breathe he'd hoped for; a second after his fist sailed through the air where her face used to be, she was back up in his space, aiming a sharp kick to his hip.
He should just be glad Kathy wasn't feeling particularly spiteful. Arching her foot, she hit him with the sole of her shoe and not the heel. If she'd gotten him with that, there was every possibility that it would have pierced his skin and sunk in a few inches.
Okay, maybe it was less that she wasn't feeling spiteful and more that she just really liked these shoes. They were cute as hell.
Yeah, he wasn't exactly feeling philosophical about how much worse it could have been. He howled in pain, feeling like someone had set off a fire cracker in his left hip.
The next name he called her was even worse as he took yanked his hand away from his nose and flung a palmful of blood directly in her face.
"Did your mama teach you--" Kathy was not prepared for the guy to use his own blood as a projectile weapon, no. As he'd intended, the spatter hit her directly in her face, forcing her eyes closed. Worse, though, was that some caught in her open mouth, landing directly on her tongue.
Immediately memories blossomed and Kathy was horrified at how her mouth instantly watered. She spat several times on the sidewalk, more worried about the blood in her mouth than the blood in her eyes. A hundred scenes exploded in her mind's eye; dozens of snapshots of biting into warm flesh and letting the blood flow...
The follow-up punch to the face was almost a relief, snapping her out of the mental haze of the past and back into the present. The second blow to the face was unnecessary and she managed to open her eyes just in time to see the third on its way, red smeared across the knuckles.
Yo, it creeped him out to see her writhe her way out of the range of his fist. She'd just moved too fast, body too flexible as she bent over backwards to avoid the hit. There was something kinda horror-movie about it, like she was gonna start skittering away like a giant spider next.
Which was why he didn't immediately go for the fourth punch. In retrospect, that proved to be a tactical error.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Kathy managed to eel out of way at the last second, pulling an almost Dante-esque maneuver as she narrowly avoided the collision.
"Slow the fuck down," she snapped at him. "You nearly fucking ran me over!"
Reply
Reply
"You have no idea," she agreed, grabbing onto his wrist and using his momentum to shove him into the brick wall of the building he'd just tried to shove her into.
Reply
Reply
Her fist lashed out and landed hard in his solar plexus; the mugger folded neatly in half and started gasping, trying to force air back into his lungs.
"Except as entertainment," she added.
Reply
His chest finally unlocking a bit, he pushed himself upright and drew back a fist. "You're gonna...wish you didn't..."
Reply
Reply
Only to have her practically dance out of the way of it, her high heels clattering out a staccato rhythm on the concrete. But her dodge didn't give him the time to breathe he'd hoped for; a second after his fist sailed through the air where her face used to be, she was back up in his space, aiming a sharp kick to his hip.
Reply
Okay, maybe it was less that she wasn't feeling spiteful and more that she just really liked these shoes. They were cute as hell.
Reply
The next name he called her was even worse as he took yanked his hand away from his nose and flung a palmful of blood directly in her face.
Reply
Immediately memories blossomed and Kathy was horrified at how her mouth instantly watered. She spat several times on the sidewalk, more worried about the blood in her mouth than the blood in her eyes. A hundred scenes exploded in her mind's eye; dozens of snapshots of biting into warm flesh and letting the blood flow...
The follow-up punch to the face was almost a relief, snapping her out of the mental haze of the past and back into the present. The second blow to the face was unnecessary and she managed to open her eyes just in time to see the third on its way, red smeared across the knuckles.
Reply
Which was why he didn't immediately go for the fourth punch. In retrospect, that proved to be a tactical error.
Reply
Leave a comment