July 21 - behind the broken glass
Title: Far From Home (part 3/?)
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG
Warnings: crossover(s)
Word count: 784
Summary: 1894 gets even worse for John.
Prompt: July 21 - song prompt 6: Behind the Broken Glass
Tempting as it was, John knew he didn’t have the luxury of panicking, not now. The shadows were lengthening. Evening was approaching, he was not in the best part of the city (which wasn’t necessarily saying much), and he was going to need shelter and ideally some food. And he was going to have to get them without money. Or much working knowledge of late-Victorian London.
John turned away from the river and started walking in a direction that would roughly take him east. There might be some charity around that he could spend the night in. Then tomorrow he could go about figuring out what to do.
“Oi! You there!”
John stopped and searched for the source of the voice. He didn’t have to look long. Two men, obviously not overly concerned with hygiene, were approaching him. The leader of the pair gave him a smile that would not have been out of place in an asylum for the criminally insane. The other just looked dirty. “Funny lookin’ coat you got, mate. We might need ya ta take it off and show us the label. Make sure it’s proper English make.” The two sniggered as though this were the funniest thing they’d heard all week.
John sighed. Of course. Just what he needed: muggers.
Uncertain light glinted off a blade in the man’s hand. John had a brief moment of longing for his gun, more than a hundred years away. Then he scanned his surroundings for something he could commandeer for a weapon and spied a cracked bottle half hidden by street detritus.
John made a dive for the bottle, grabbed it, and smashed the bottom end against the nearest wall. The glass shattered in a rather satisfying burst, leaving jagged triangles sharp enough to rival the tough’s knife. Behind the broken glass weapon, John narrowed his eyes in his best I-will-fuck-you-up demeanor. “Fair warning: I’ve killed better men than you.”
Grimy Bloke glanced at his armed companion for guidance. Knife hesitated. John gave them a firm nod and slowly backed away, not taking his eyes off them.
Suddenly Knife had second thoughts and lunged at John. John easily pivoted away to the right so the stab missed by him easily. Then he finished the pivot and jabbed the broken bottle into the back of Knife’s neck, simultaneously sweeping his leg against Knife’s foot so that he fell forward. There was a thunk as Knife’s nose hit the ground and a faint metallic clatter as his weapon dropped from his hand.
John whirled around, pointing the now bloodied bottle end at Grimy Bloke. Grimy took another look at Knife, now groaning on the ground, and proved that intelligence was not his strong suit: he attempted to tackle John by diving under his outstretched arm.
To be fair, the move did take John by surprise. Unfortunately for the street tough, the momentum sent them toppling on top of Knife, who made a wheezing gasp beneath the two struggling men. Too close to his target for the bottle, John drove the heel of his hand hard into Grimy’s nose, which promptly started to spurt blood. All over John. Half in disgust, half to get the man off him, John made a hand chop at Grimy’s throat. He wheezed even harder than Knife had and offered no resistance as John pushed him off
At this point, John was able to roll off of Knife and get back to his feet. He paused for just a second to indulge in some self-congratulations at the sight of his would-be assailants crumpled on the ground. And then - there was a whistle blast behind him and someone hit him in the back of the head with something hard.
It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out but it was hard enough to send him staggering. Then beefy hands grabbed him and shoved him face-first against one a wall. “Roight,” a baritone voice bellowed in his ear, “you are under arrest for brawling on a public street!” John’s hands were pulled behind him and he felt the unmistakable sensation of cold metal being snapped onto his wrists.
“It was self-defense,” he tried to argue but he was already being dragged to some kind of grotty carriage - was that a Black Maria? - and flung into it. Knife and Grimy were soon to follow, although neither of them were as yet in any condition to cause him problems. The door slammed behind them, surrounding them all in a stinking gloom. Then, with a lurch, the carriage started moving to the sound of horse hooves clopping.
Well, John thought, grimly optimistic, this takes care of getting a roof over my head for the night.
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG
Warnings: crossover(s)
Word count: 784
Summary: 1894 gets even worse for John.
Prompt: July 21 - song prompt 6: Behind the Broken Glass
Tempting as it was, John knew he didn’t have the luxury of panicking, not now. The shadows were lengthening. Evening was approaching, he was not in the best part of the city (which wasn’t necessarily saying much), and he was going to need shelter and ideally some food. And he was going to have to get them without money. Or much working knowledge of late-Victorian London.
John turned away from the river and started walking in a direction that would roughly take him east. There might be some charity around that he could spend the night in. Then tomorrow he could go about figuring out what to do.
“Oi! You there!”
John stopped and searched for the source of the voice. He didn’t have to look long. Two men, obviously not overly concerned with hygiene, were approaching him. The leader of the pair gave him a smile that would not have been out of place in an asylum for the criminally insane. The other just looked dirty. “Funny lookin’ coat you got, mate. We might need ya ta take it off and show us the label. Make sure it’s proper English make.” The two sniggered as though this were the funniest thing they’d heard all week.
John sighed. Of course. Just what he needed: muggers.
Uncertain light glinted off a blade in the man’s hand. John had a brief moment of longing for his gun, more than a hundred years away. Then he scanned his surroundings for something he could commandeer for a weapon and spied a cracked bottle half hidden by street detritus.
John made a dive for the bottle, grabbed it, and smashed the bottom end against the nearest wall. The glass shattered in a rather satisfying burst, leaving jagged triangles sharp enough to rival the tough’s knife. Behind the broken glass weapon, John narrowed his eyes in his best I-will-fuck-you-up demeanor. “Fair warning: I’ve killed better men than you.”
Grimy Bloke glanced at his armed companion for guidance. Knife hesitated. John gave them a firm nod and slowly backed away, not taking his eyes off them.
Suddenly Knife had second thoughts and lunged at John. John easily pivoted away to the right so the stab missed by him easily. Then he finished the pivot and jabbed the broken bottle into the back of Knife’s neck, simultaneously sweeping his leg against Knife’s foot so that he fell forward. There was a thunk as Knife’s nose hit the ground and a faint metallic clatter as his weapon dropped from his hand.
John whirled around, pointing the now bloodied bottle end at Grimy Bloke. Grimy took another look at Knife, now groaning on the ground, and proved that intelligence was not his strong suit: he attempted to tackle John by diving under his outstretched arm.
To be fair, the move did take John by surprise. Unfortunately for the street tough, the momentum sent them toppling on top of Knife, who made a wheezing gasp beneath the two struggling men. Too close to his target for the bottle, John drove the heel of his hand hard into Grimy’s nose, which promptly started to spurt blood. All over John. Half in disgust, half to get the man off him, John made a hand chop at Grimy’s throat. He wheezed even harder than Knife had and offered no resistance as John pushed him off
At this point, John was able to roll off of Knife and get back to his feet. He paused for just a second to indulge in some self-congratulations at the sight of his would-be assailants crumpled on the ground. And then - there was a whistle blast behind him and someone hit him in the back of the head with something hard.
It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out but it was hard enough to send him staggering. Then beefy hands grabbed him and shoved him face-first against one a wall. “Roight,” a baritone voice bellowed in his ear, “you are under arrest for brawling on a public street!” John’s hands were pulled behind him and he felt the unmistakable sensation of cold metal being snapped onto his wrists.
“It was self-defense,” he tried to argue but he was already being dragged to some kind of grotty carriage - was that a Black Maria? - and flung into it. Knife and Grimy were soon to follow, although neither of them were as yet in any condition to cause him problems. The door slammed behind them, surrounding them all in a stinking gloom. Then, with a lurch, the carriage started moving to the sound of horse hooves clopping.
Well, John thought, grimly optimistic, this takes care of getting a roof over my head for the night.