Post by Catsmate on Sept 2, 2022 10:56:51 GMT
A dark little vignette that came to me last night.
The Tough Girl.
Or When Evander met Paige.
She was small, but tough. That much was obvious the first time they met. Well ‘met’ was probably not the best way to describe their encounter.
He’s been aware of the gang stalking him for some minutes, like inexperienced predators. They were amateurs at hunting humans.
Unlike him. He smiled and continued walking.
There were five of them, three men and two women, well boys and girls really. None were adults yet.
He didn’t even require the feed from the overwatcher to know that, his own senses were quite adequate. He deliberately turned down a closed ended alleyway, half-a-minute ahead of them and slid into the narrow, shadowed, back doorway of one of the small businesses. He smiled again and relaxed, becoming almost invisible.in the gloom.
The gang entered the alley full of arrogant confidence, joking to one another, again like inexperienced hunters, ones who haven’t realised that they were stalking something far more dangerous than they.
Their confident words died as they failed to see him, glancing disconcerted around, their eyes passing over the shadows that encompassed him. He watched silently as their leader, an egotistical but rather unintelligent boy of around seventeen, berated the others for having let their prey escape. But one of the gang, the youngest he thought, ignored her leader’s anger and kept scanning, her face puzzled.
He smiled again, someone is smarter, can think for herself. This might be interesting.
As the five reached the end of the alley, having inspected all the possible hiding places, except the one that acutally concealed him, the argument grew louder. The leader slapped one of his minions and raised a hand to the girl when she argued with him. Her feral expression, teeth bared, caused the hand to drop before the blow could land.
Interesting.
He stepped out of the doorway and into the dim light of the doorways and street lights.
“Looking for me”. He grinned openly at them, expression laced with derision.
They wheeled around, looking towards him, startled.
They didn’t know what to make of him, the situation was beyond their immature brains, didn’t fit the usual patterns of bluster, threats and violence.
Except the girl, she knew something was terribly wrong. She was afraid.
Smart indeed.
The leader needed to assert himself and spoke, words filled with bluster to cover his growing fear.
“This is ours, see? You need to pay the toll. To pass through like”
His accent was atrocious, a certain amount of education could still be detected through the street patois and Estuary English but not much.
“No”. The man snorted, amused. Deliberately pushing things.
“You disrespecting me?”, the boy almost screamed. The gang leader was more scared now, whatever functioning brain cells he had were screaming at him to run but his ego held them in check, for the moment.
The rest of the gang were more obviously scared. The small girl was controlled, alert, like an animal coiled to spring, or flee. The other girl was a non-entity, the man dismissed her as arm candy, a fake blonde plaything for the leader; from her clothes she was indulging her slumming desires and manipulating the gang’s leader to enhance her own status. The other two boys were uneasy. Spiky fake-blonde hair was shifting his weight from foot to foot unconsciously. The biggest boy, the one with cropped dark hair was more placid, stupidity overruling common sense and instincts.
The man snorted, seemingly amused by the idiocy of the boy and sighed.
“Child, ‘disrespect’ is a noun, not a verb except to semi-literate cretins like you. And respect is earned, an idiot like you has earned none, especially from me”.
A declaration of war.
If the boy was smart he’d bluster a bit and withdraw, try and save face. But this one wasn’t that smart.
Unhappily for him.
He reached into the left back pocket of his artistically ripped jeans and drew out a butterfly knife. His fear made his attempt to twirl it open pitifully clumsy, and he narrowly avoided dropping the blade.
The man laughed.
“Put that away before you cut your fingers off, halfwit”.
Swinging the small knife from side to side to make the blade shine in the dim light the gang leader approached the man, who only grinned again.
When only a couple of metres separated them the boy spoke again.
“Give us you wallet, phone, stuff and maybe we’ll let you live”.
Again the man laughed, “Not a chance idiot”.
With a roar of frustration at being so belittled in front of his ‘friends’ the boy charged, knife extended amateurishly.
The other gangers didn’t see the man move but a couple of seconds later he was crumpled on the ground, unmoving. And the man had the knife in his hand.
He smiled at them.
The remaining two boys charged at him, but fear made them desperate and clumsy, especially against such as he.
They dropped as quickly as the first boy had.
He walked over to the girls. The tough girl was alert, her own knife poised, eyes scanning the alley for a way out of the mess the idiot had gotten them into. The blonde was frozen, utterly unaccustomed to such violence. The man’s noise detected the ammoniacal stink of fear induced loss of bladder control.
He stopped a couple of metres from the blonde and spoke.
“Do you want to live, girl?”
She nodded pathetically, desperate to live and eagerly embracing any tatter of hope. He could order her to do anything, no matter how disgusting or degrading and she’d eagerly obey. He was something out of her comprehension.
He smiled again. “Then take the knife out of your boot and cut their throats”, gesturing at the two boys.
She hesitated for just a moment, breathing suddenly rapid and panicked, but he knew she’d obey.
When the coppery stink of spilled blood, oozing onto the dirty concrete added to the miscellanea of odours, he spoke again.
“Run away child. And remember this night”.
She fled, stiletto heels clicking as she desperately tried not to trip on the scattered debris.
And then there were two.
If one ignored the corpses.
He looked at the final girl, smiled again as if the violence amused him, and spoke
“Do you want to live Paige?”
She was monumentally startled from her fear, how did he know her name?
“Do you?”. He made his voice louder and harsher.
“Yes”. Finally she spoke.
“Good. Then come with me. You are now mine”.
He turned and walked away. The girl paused for barely a second before following obediently.
She was his now.
The Tough Girl.
Or When Evander met Paige.
She was small, but tough. That much was obvious the first time they met. Well ‘met’ was probably not the best way to describe their encounter.
He’s been aware of the gang stalking him for some minutes, like inexperienced predators. They were amateurs at hunting humans.
Unlike him. He smiled and continued walking.
There were five of them, three men and two women, well boys and girls really. None were adults yet.
He didn’t even require the feed from the overwatcher to know that, his own senses were quite adequate. He deliberately turned down a closed ended alleyway, half-a-minute ahead of them and slid into the narrow, shadowed, back doorway of one of the small businesses. He smiled again and relaxed, becoming almost invisible.in the gloom.
The gang entered the alley full of arrogant confidence, joking to one another, again like inexperienced hunters, ones who haven’t realised that they were stalking something far more dangerous than they.
Their confident words died as they failed to see him, glancing disconcerted around, their eyes passing over the shadows that encompassed him. He watched silently as their leader, an egotistical but rather unintelligent boy of around seventeen, berated the others for having let their prey escape. But one of the gang, the youngest he thought, ignored her leader’s anger and kept scanning, her face puzzled.
He smiled again, someone is smarter, can think for herself. This might be interesting.
As the five reached the end of the alley, having inspected all the possible hiding places, except the one that acutally concealed him, the argument grew louder. The leader slapped one of his minions and raised a hand to the girl when she argued with him. Her feral expression, teeth bared, caused the hand to drop before the blow could land.
Interesting.
He stepped out of the doorway and into the dim light of the doorways and street lights.
“Looking for me”. He grinned openly at them, expression laced with derision.
They wheeled around, looking towards him, startled.
They didn’t know what to make of him, the situation was beyond their immature brains, didn’t fit the usual patterns of bluster, threats and violence.
Except the girl, she knew something was terribly wrong. She was afraid.
Smart indeed.
The leader needed to assert himself and spoke, words filled with bluster to cover his growing fear.
“This is ours, see? You need to pay the toll. To pass through like”
His accent was atrocious, a certain amount of education could still be detected through the street patois and Estuary English but not much.
“No”. The man snorted, amused. Deliberately pushing things.
“You disrespecting me?”, the boy almost screamed. The gang leader was more scared now, whatever functioning brain cells he had were screaming at him to run but his ego held them in check, for the moment.
The rest of the gang were more obviously scared. The small girl was controlled, alert, like an animal coiled to spring, or flee. The other girl was a non-entity, the man dismissed her as arm candy, a fake blonde plaything for the leader; from her clothes she was indulging her slumming desires and manipulating the gang’s leader to enhance her own status. The other two boys were uneasy. Spiky fake-blonde hair was shifting his weight from foot to foot unconsciously. The biggest boy, the one with cropped dark hair was more placid, stupidity overruling common sense and instincts.
The man snorted, seemingly amused by the idiocy of the boy and sighed.
“Child, ‘disrespect’ is a noun, not a verb except to semi-literate cretins like you. And respect is earned, an idiot like you has earned none, especially from me”.
A declaration of war.
If the boy was smart he’d bluster a bit and withdraw, try and save face. But this one wasn’t that smart.
Unhappily for him.
He reached into the left back pocket of his artistically ripped jeans and drew out a butterfly knife. His fear made his attempt to twirl it open pitifully clumsy, and he narrowly avoided dropping the blade.
The man laughed.
“Put that away before you cut your fingers off, halfwit”.
Swinging the small knife from side to side to make the blade shine in the dim light the gang leader approached the man, who only grinned again.
When only a couple of metres separated them the boy spoke again.
“Give us you wallet, phone, stuff and maybe we’ll let you live”.
Again the man laughed, “Not a chance idiot”.
With a roar of frustration at being so belittled in front of his ‘friends’ the boy charged, knife extended amateurishly.
The other gangers didn’t see the man move but a couple of seconds later he was crumpled on the ground, unmoving. And the man had the knife in his hand.
He smiled at them.
The remaining two boys charged at him, but fear made them desperate and clumsy, especially against such as he.
They dropped as quickly as the first boy had.
He walked over to the girls. The tough girl was alert, her own knife poised, eyes scanning the alley for a way out of the mess the idiot had gotten them into. The blonde was frozen, utterly unaccustomed to such violence. The man’s noise detected the ammoniacal stink of fear induced loss of bladder control.
He stopped a couple of metres from the blonde and spoke.
“Do you want to live, girl?”
She nodded pathetically, desperate to live and eagerly embracing any tatter of hope. He could order her to do anything, no matter how disgusting or degrading and she’d eagerly obey. He was something out of her comprehension.
He smiled again. “Then take the knife out of your boot and cut their throats”, gesturing at the two boys.
She hesitated for just a moment, breathing suddenly rapid and panicked, but he knew she’d obey.
When the coppery stink of spilled blood, oozing onto the dirty concrete added to the miscellanea of odours, he spoke again.
“Run away child. And remember this night”.
She fled, stiletto heels clicking as she desperately tried not to trip on the scattered debris.
And then there were two.
If one ignored the corpses.
He looked at the final girl, smiled again as if the violence amused him, and spoke
“Do you want to live Paige?”
She was monumentally startled from her fear, how did he know her name?
“Do you?”. He made his voice louder and harsher.
“Yes”. Finally she spoke.
“Good. Then come with me. You are now mine”.
He turned and walked away. The girl paused for barely a second before following obediently.
She was his now.
