Welcome Madness, Say Hello
Feb. 9th, 2015 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no_leafMack's up north of the Measure 2 East Side, prowling through the bizarre urban wasteland, when she hears the familiar sounds of conflict. Raised voices, one of them a woman wailing something that sounds desperate.
A shiver of excitement runs through her as the sound reaches her ears; the moon's full, her blood is running hot and, of course, her true mission here is just not going as well as she'd like. The commotion offers the potential to vent some of the energy in a way that is, in her books, a +1 for the good guys. Pulling her hoodie up and making sure her knives are ready for quick access, she jogs over to where the sound is coming from.
In the broken-open lobby of an abandoned building, an Aryan-looking young man in a logo-patched motorcycle jacket holds a skinnier African-dark man by the elbows, while a second biker lays into him. The woman stands close by, cornered by a tall guy in unmarked leathers who just looms over her, keeping her out of it. Even as Mack comes into view, the woman launches herself at her guard and starts hitting him wildly, sobbing and screaming.
"Where-- the FUCK-- is-- our-- MONEY!?" the beatdown-man says, his voice growling.
The one doing the *holding*, the only one with a real angle to watch the street for witnesses, is distracted when the woman moves, his attention darting over toward those two as the woman starts trying to pound on his brother. It's more that he thinks she's cute, by his expression; there's a kind of admiration in the unshaven thug's eyes, and he even smiles a little. "Aww, it's like gettin' attacked by a baby pittie," he says. "Careful, Injun, that puppy might *bite* you!"
Their logo is that of the Outlaws: a slightly cartoonish skull with red trim backed by what looks like a pair of red-spotted ...pistons?
Mack does her best to sneak into a position to see what's going on without being immediately spotted. Her brows furrow at the scene and that itch grows a little stronger. Despite that, for now she holds her position, keeping most of her attention on the man laying the beating in, and the victim. There's too many of them for now, and more importantly, she's not sure there's an innocent party among them.
One punch lands particularly hard, and Skinny screams raggedly. "I DON'T HAVE IT!!!"
Meanwhile, the big guy has managed to wrap his hellion in a bear hug, with one hand fisted into her tiny braids to deter biting.
"Please," the woman sobs out. "Please. We'll get it. We'll get it."
Mack steps in a bit closer now, bouncing a bit on her feet. One of her knives is gently reached for as she puts her attention on the big guy holding the woman. "Back it off dude," she whispers under her own breath.
"Company!" yells the Holding Guy--though he doesn't let skinny-boy go. The others are the ones who turn to seek her out, the taller thug pulling a .45. "Anh-anh-anh," he cautions, shaking his head at her.
"Guess I took a wrong turn. Shit." Mack calls back with a tone of performed uncertaity and fear. "I'll just ... I didn't see anything. Honest." She takes a few steps back then, eyes kept on the gang members.
The beatdown-man seems like he might be the one in charge; the others seem to defer to him for action, the gunman glancing over for an instant. Beatdown is slimmer than the big guy, but still has some room for muscle under his hoodie and the cut he wears over it. His hair is dark, his eyes pale and hard. "Yeah, babe. You just run along, now. Unless you wanna give me your number." His grin is wolfish, for lack of a better word.
Holder *rolls* his eyes and mutters, "Fuck's SAKE, Tommy."
Mack takes another step back at this, "Uh, leaving. Yeah." And she does, mostly. She leaves the ruined lobby area and backs her way out until she's fairly sure she's out of sight. But there she stops, listening now that she can't see, and taking a glance around her to see what else is in the area; structure-wise and people-wise.
"Do you *ever* stop bein' a poon hound?" says the same voice--the darkly cynical tones of Holding Guy. "I mean, Jesus ass-fuckin' Christ, man."
Meanwhile, Skinny is babbling incoherently that he *can* get the money, he swears, it'll just take a few days...
There are a few rough sounds of impact. A whimper from the woman. The low-growling voice of the thug, words indistinct.
This is typical Measure 2 country: many of the buildings are boarded-up or vacant, with only a few slummy apartment buildings and struggling corner liquor stores. Nothing is open, and no one's in sight.
There's a few moments of hesitation outside as Mack debates her options. Frustration builds in the young Fianna, and she finally, with a low growl of her own, looks for someplace to tuck herself out of sight and wait for the more offensive party to leave.
"No--" Skinny says desperately, cut off by the impact of another punch. "No, Natalia, don't, you don't got to--"
There's another punch, and then Holding Guy mutters something that's probably "aaaahhh, fuck." Brief noises of clothing, leather being dusted off, maybe, and movement.
"Injun," the young 'leader' says. "She can ride with you." Then a sound of violent impact and the resulting groan--probably kicking him while he's down. "We'll *be* in *touch*," Beatdown Boy says.
The next exchange flushes any remaining common sense from the Fianna's mind, and with the last bit of restraint thrown to the wind, she's grabbed up her knives and is charging back in. No words, no taunts, just knives armed and ready to be thrown, with intent to kill, at the man named Injun.
She hits Injun in the shoulder, and the knife flies fast enough and hard enough to stab through the leather of his jacket. It sinks in just inward of his shoulder, and he lets out a snarl. Letting go of the girl (who wisely bolts back to her downed man and starts helping him up) he uses his *other* hand to draw that gun again.
And, of course, the others *notice* her at this point.
The two who don't yet have weapons in hand draw them and are probably going to shoot, too. Behind them, the woman is attempting to haul Skinny to his feet.
Her knives are already out and in hand, so they remain Mack's weapon of choice even now. Knife to a gunfight anyone? With the woman free of Injun, it takes away some of delicacy needed in firing off another knife in his direction. This time, intended for a more lethal spot if she can manage it.
The knife hits Injun square in the throat--that beefy neck made an excellent target, really--and he goes wide-eyed as blood starts welling around the small blade. His gun thunks to the ground, and he stumbles backward, clutching at his throat in dying reflex. He doesn't have long.
Almost at the same time, the other two open fire. Beatdown was perceptive enough to catch what happened to Injun, in his peripheral vision... and he *screams* with fury as he pulls the trigger, charging her almost the moment the flash comes.
Two shots ring out, shatteringly loud. Mack feels something skin to being kicked in the stomach and then the chest by a bucking bronco, or maybe something bigger. Like a bull. She instantly shifts to Glabro.
Holder is hanging back, looking torn and frustrated as Tommy charges in--and then his eyes widen when he sees the shift.
Tommy is lost to his fury, his face contorted as he charges in with gun raised. He'll likely try to fire at Mack point-blank if she doesn't do something about it.
And behind him, their brother-in-arms is wide-eyed as well, with shock, as he chokes and bleeds out.
White hot pain flashes through her body as the shots ring out, and instinctively Mack's body swells up to guard her from the assault. Even in glabro though, she's rocked so violently by the shots that her attempt to brace for further action is sloppy and delayed. A step back is taken as her hands come up defensively; hoping to use that blind momentum of the man's charge against him.
Snarling by now, Tommy aims a vicious jab--the kind that breaks noses--right at Mack's pretty face. Mack, already in motion, dodges the punch... which only pisses him off even more.
At this point, Holder has regained enough sense to *do* something--and he starts circling around to flank Mack. His gun is still out, but not pointing at the fight; instead it's held down. He is still keeping an eye out for cops, and he *definitely* looks freaked out.
Tommy still has the gun. And given their close range, if he can get it between them, he's very likely to fire-it point-blank into Mack.
As the attacker closes in, Mack draws up another of her knives, this time not for throwing but for slashing at the man pressing toward her. She's fast, and she manages to get the knife drawn up just as he steps into her, though the rush of body and the thickness of his leather jacket turn the blade away from him without harm. It pushes her back further on the defensive as she eyes the enraged man.
The gun's almost right in between them--but just as Tommy fires, Mack manages to knock it away so the shot goes wide. In the meantime, however, Holder is still trying to get around them, to flank Mack or attack her from behind.
It's getting desperate now as the moments tick by, and once more Mack pushes forward with her knife. This time she hopes to aim higher to where there is less material and armor to get in the way. The sweet spot on the neck would be ideal if luck sides with her this round.
The damn jacket gets in her way again--she ends up sticking him in the shoulder, but he seems to practically shrug it off. Sure, it hurts getting stabbed, but he's mister tough Outlaw. And he's livid. With the adrenaline pumping, he barely seems to feel the knife. This time, rather than shoot, he goes for the punch again, a vicious jab.
She dodges the jab--rather neatly!--but unfortunately, Holder has made his flanking maneuver. He pistol-whips her viciously, making her head spin for a moment or two. This is Bad.
..maybe not so viciously. He *is* a bit shorter.
Holder's rather frustrated--and he decides that the six-foot-plus monstrous opponent requires desperate measures. He looks like he's trying to get a shot again, this time actually bothering to use the sights. Genius. He must be the smart one at this party.
Tommy is still raging--maybe he didn't notice how she got bigger, or maybe it just pissed him off MORE. He's going to keep on punching.
Too long, too long Mack! The thought comes quickly to the girl as the situation proves to give her no chance at gaining ground. A soft tsk escapes her throat as she moves not to attack, but to hurry past Tommy in his rage, and make a bolt for the door out and into the streets. Once she hits the pavement of the cityscape, she has more chance to pull advantage in getting away. So now she aims hard and fast for the door.
Tommy barks an order: "Get Tank!" and then starts sprinting after her. After a couple of blocks, though, he gives it up with a shouted curse. And, for good measure, he adds, "Bitch! You see an Outlaw again, you better fuckin' RUN!"
It's a long run, even longer since she's careful to not run straight back to where her truck is parked. Once she's there, it's a hurried drive to the darkest part of an overnight warehousing lot, where she parks the Yukon and crawls into the back of the truck. A fist punches the back of the seat, "Dammit Jules. I can't do this on my own..." Just before the tears catch her, she's rolled herself into her pillow and pulled the blanket over her head.
A shiver of excitement runs through her as the sound reaches her ears; the moon's full, her blood is running hot and, of course, her true mission here is just not going as well as she'd like. The commotion offers the potential to vent some of the energy in a way that is, in her books, a +1 for the good guys. Pulling her hoodie up and making sure her knives are ready for quick access, she jogs over to where the sound is coming from.
In the broken-open lobby of an abandoned building, an Aryan-looking young man in a logo-patched motorcycle jacket holds a skinnier African-dark man by the elbows, while a second biker lays into him. The woman stands close by, cornered by a tall guy in unmarked leathers who just looms over her, keeping her out of it. Even as Mack comes into view, the woman launches herself at her guard and starts hitting him wildly, sobbing and screaming.
"Where-- the FUCK-- is-- our-- MONEY!?" the beatdown-man says, his voice growling.
The one doing the *holding*, the only one with a real angle to watch the street for witnesses, is distracted when the woman moves, his attention darting over toward those two as the woman starts trying to pound on his brother. It's more that he thinks she's cute, by his expression; there's a kind of admiration in the unshaven thug's eyes, and he even smiles a little. "Aww, it's like gettin' attacked by a baby pittie," he says. "Careful, Injun, that puppy might *bite* you!"
Their logo is that of the Outlaws: a slightly cartoonish skull with red trim backed by what looks like a pair of red-spotted ...pistons?
Mack does her best to sneak into a position to see what's going on without being immediately spotted. Her brows furrow at the scene and that itch grows a little stronger. Despite that, for now she holds her position, keeping most of her attention on the man laying the beating in, and the victim. There's too many of them for now, and more importantly, she's not sure there's an innocent party among them.
One punch lands particularly hard, and Skinny screams raggedly. "I DON'T HAVE IT!!!"
Meanwhile, the big guy has managed to wrap his hellion in a bear hug, with one hand fisted into her tiny braids to deter biting.
"Please," the woman sobs out. "Please. We'll get it. We'll get it."
Mack steps in a bit closer now, bouncing a bit on her feet. One of her knives is gently reached for as she puts her attention on the big guy holding the woman. "Back it off dude," she whispers under her own breath.
"Company!" yells the Holding Guy--though he doesn't let skinny-boy go. The others are the ones who turn to seek her out, the taller thug pulling a .45. "Anh-anh-anh," he cautions, shaking his head at her.
"Guess I took a wrong turn. Shit." Mack calls back with a tone of performed uncertaity and fear. "I'll just ... I didn't see anything. Honest." She takes a few steps back then, eyes kept on the gang members.
The beatdown-man seems like he might be the one in charge; the others seem to defer to him for action, the gunman glancing over for an instant. Beatdown is slimmer than the big guy, but still has some room for muscle under his hoodie and the cut he wears over it. His hair is dark, his eyes pale and hard. "Yeah, babe. You just run along, now. Unless you wanna give me your number." His grin is wolfish, for lack of a better word.
Holder *rolls* his eyes and mutters, "Fuck's SAKE, Tommy."
Mack takes another step back at this, "Uh, leaving. Yeah." And she does, mostly. She leaves the ruined lobby area and backs her way out until she's fairly sure she's out of sight. But there she stops, listening now that she can't see, and taking a glance around her to see what else is in the area; structure-wise and people-wise.
"Do you *ever* stop bein' a poon hound?" says the same voice--the darkly cynical tones of Holding Guy. "I mean, Jesus ass-fuckin' Christ, man."
Meanwhile, Skinny is babbling incoherently that he *can* get the money, he swears, it'll just take a few days...
There are a few rough sounds of impact. A whimper from the woman. The low-growling voice of the thug, words indistinct.
This is typical Measure 2 country: many of the buildings are boarded-up or vacant, with only a few slummy apartment buildings and struggling corner liquor stores. Nothing is open, and no one's in sight.
There's a few moments of hesitation outside as Mack debates her options. Frustration builds in the young Fianna, and she finally, with a low growl of her own, looks for someplace to tuck herself out of sight and wait for the more offensive party to leave.
"No--" Skinny says desperately, cut off by the impact of another punch. "No, Natalia, don't, you don't got to--"
There's another punch, and then Holding Guy mutters something that's probably "aaaahhh, fuck." Brief noises of clothing, leather being dusted off, maybe, and movement.
"Injun," the young 'leader' says. "She can ride with you." Then a sound of violent impact and the resulting groan--probably kicking him while he's down. "We'll *be* in *touch*," Beatdown Boy says.
The next exchange flushes any remaining common sense from the Fianna's mind, and with the last bit of restraint thrown to the wind, she's grabbed up her knives and is charging back in. No words, no taunts, just knives armed and ready to be thrown, with intent to kill, at the man named Injun.
She hits Injun in the shoulder, and the knife flies fast enough and hard enough to stab through the leather of his jacket. It sinks in just inward of his shoulder, and he lets out a snarl. Letting go of the girl (who wisely bolts back to her downed man and starts helping him up) he uses his *other* hand to draw that gun again.
And, of course, the others *notice* her at this point.
The two who don't yet have weapons in hand draw them and are probably going to shoot, too. Behind them, the woman is attempting to haul Skinny to his feet.
Her knives are already out and in hand, so they remain Mack's weapon of choice even now. Knife to a gunfight anyone? With the woman free of Injun, it takes away some of delicacy needed in firing off another knife in his direction. This time, intended for a more lethal spot if she can manage it.
The knife hits Injun square in the throat--that beefy neck made an excellent target, really--and he goes wide-eyed as blood starts welling around the small blade. His gun thunks to the ground, and he stumbles backward, clutching at his throat in dying reflex. He doesn't have long.
Almost at the same time, the other two open fire. Beatdown was perceptive enough to catch what happened to Injun, in his peripheral vision... and he *screams* with fury as he pulls the trigger, charging her almost the moment the flash comes.
Two shots ring out, shatteringly loud. Mack feels something skin to being kicked in the stomach and then the chest by a bucking bronco, or maybe something bigger. Like a bull. She instantly shifts to Glabro.
Holder is hanging back, looking torn and frustrated as Tommy charges in--and then his eyes widen when he sees the shift.
Tommy is lost to his fury, his face contorted as he charges in with gun raised. He'll likely try to fire at Mack point-blank if she doesn't do something about it.
And behind him, their brother-in-arms is wide-eyed as well, with shock, as he chokes and bleeds out.
White hot pain flashes through her body as the shots ring out, and instinctively Mack's body swells up to guard her from the assault. Even in glabro though, she's rocked so violently by the shots that her attempt to brace for further action is sloppy and delayed. A step back is taken as her hands come up defensively; hoping to use that blind momentum of the man's charge against him.
Snarling by now, Tommy aims a vicious jab--the kind that breaks noses--right at Mack's pretty face. Mack, already in motion, dodges the punch... which only pisses him off even more.
At this point, Holder has regained enough sense to *do* something--and he starts circling around to flank Mack. His gun is still out, but not pointing at the fight; instead it's held down. He is still keeping an eye out for cops, and he *definitely* looks freaked out.
Tommy still has the gun. And given their close range, if he can get it between them, he's very likely to fire-it point-blank into Mack.
As the attacker closes in, Mack draws up another of her knives, this time not for throwing but for slashing at the man pressing toward her. She's fast, and she manages to get the knife drawn up just as he steps into her, though the rush of body and the thickness of his leather jacket turn the blade away from him without harm. It pushes her back further on the defensive as she eyes the enraged man.
The gun's almost right in between them--but just as Tommy fires, Mack manages to knock it away so the shot goes wide. In the meantime, however, Holder is still trying to get around them, to flank Mack or attack her from behind.
It's getting desperate now as the moments tick by, and once more Mack pushes forward with her knife. This time she hopes to aim higher to where there is less material and armor to get in the way. The sweet spot on the neck would be ideal if luck sides with her this round.
The damn jacket gets in her way again--she ends up sticking him in the shoulder, but he seems to practically shrug it off. Sure, it hurts getting stabbed, but he's mister tough Outlaw. And he's livid. With the adrenaline pumping, he barely seems to feel the knife. This time, rather than shoot, he goes for the punch again, a vicious jab.
She dodges the jab--rather neatly!--but unfortunately, Holder has made his flanking maneuver. He pistol-whips her viciously, making her head spin for a moment or two. This is Bad.
..maybe not so viciously. He *is* a bit shorter.
Holder's rather frustrated--and he decides that the six-foot-plus monstrous opponent requires desperate measures. He looks like he's trying to get a shot again, this time actually bothering to use the sights. Genius. He must be the smart one at this party.
Tommy is still raging--maybe he didn't notice how she got bigger, or maybe it just pissed him off MORE. He's going to keep on punching.
Too long, too long Mack! The thought comes quickly to the girl as the situation proves to give her no chance at gaining ground. A soft tsk escapes her throat as she moves not to attack, but to hurry past Tommy in his rage, and make a bolt for the door out and into the streets. Once she hits the pavement of the cityscape, she has more chance to pull advantage in getting away. So now she aims hard and fast for the door.
Tommy barks an order: "Get Tank!" and then starts sprinting after her. After a couple of blocks, though, he gives it up with a shouted curse. And, for good measure, he adds, "Bitch! You see an Outlaw again, you better fuckin' RUN!"
It's a long run, even longer since she's careful to not run straight back to where her truck is parked. Once she's there, it's a hurried drive to the darkest part of an overnight warehousing lot, where she parks the Yukon and crawls into the back of the truck. A fist punches the back of the seat, "Dammit Jules. I can't do this on my own..." Just before the tears catch her, she's rolled herself into her pillow and pulled the blanket over her head.
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