A Walk in the Blight
Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 7:38 pm
“So you know Caliburn.”
It was cold as hell in the District that night and I had spent the last three hours looking for Ron. I was cold, annoyed, and no less than three splatterpunks tried to get fresh with me. How the hell Caliburn patrolled this mess was beyond me – maybe I’m the less than patient sort, y’know?
Thus, I was… underwhelmed when a “gent” in a fancy pinstripe with an ugly scar along his lip showed up with a couple goons about twice his size, trying to look all intimidating. He had the look of someone trying to get past the fact someone had thrown him down the stairs one too many times – I’m guessing Caliburn.
“Something I can help y’with, guv?” I asked politely, looking as unimpressed as possible. I don’t think I’m very threatening – but I’m told sometimes I’m kind of a scary chick. It also went in my favor I sensed his cigar before he turned the corner.
“Yeah, I want Caliburn.” He said with a hmph, flicking more chewed than lit cubano aside.
“I'd say try askin’ the locals, but hey’ve been less than helpful for me.” I pointed out, lighting my own smoke.
The man gave me an ugly smirk, “I think you know where he is.”
I snorted as I tucked my zippo away, “I think if you knew I was out looking for him, you’d know that I probably wouldn’t know where he is if I’ve spent three hours in the damn cold looking for him.”
“I suppose not.” He said as his two goons waltzed up, cracking their knuckles, “Nonetheless, you’re the closest thing I have to finding him. I was hopin’ you’d come along with us.”
“I bet you were.” I noted as one of them put his hand on my shoulder – and was promptly head-butted.
I flicked my cigarette in the face of the other goon, blinding him briefly as I swung an elbow to his nose, making contact with a satisfying crack. I followed this with a kick/stomp to the side of his knee to bring him down, stepping out of the way just as the first goon swung a haymaker at me, missing my nose by a couple inches.
“Too slow.” I noted before I laid him out with a nice solid punch to the cheek, catching him with the knuckles of my sap gloves.
The perks of having brothers – they teach you how to throw down, and to always bring sap gloves to the dance.
I was a bit worried though – the big man was just standing there, smirking.
“That wasn’t bad.” The scarred man said with a shrug, before snapping his fingers. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard something thudding about.
“Aye, boss?” I heard a deep voice say, just as I started to smell stale liquor from somewhere.
A large – really large – figure came up from behind the would be crime-lord. He probably wasn’t too much taller than me, but he looked like he was wearing XXXL shirts and pants as he had at least four times as much muscle as me. He was in – get this – a three piece suit that had to have been custom tailored for his massive frame.
His face looked like he had jaundice, apparently had no eyelashes, and his eyes were a shade of yellow matching his teeth. Oddly enough, there was some sort of sigil branded in his forehead. Couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it was though.
“She’s all yours, Mingus, but keep her alive.” Pinstripe noted as he motioned to me. The ugly lug leered at me as it pounded its giant knuckles together – did I mention this thing’s arms were huge? He looked like friggin’ Popeye.
“I’ll try, boss.” The thing said as it took a large swig of liquor from a bottle, much of the whiskey running down his chin before he shattered the empty container against the wall to his right.
I was unimpressed, “You're so ugly that you can sink your face in dough and make monster cookies.”
I thought it was clever.
He didn’t think it was funny. He narrowed his eyes at me before he took a big ol’ haymaker swing. He telegraphed like an 8 year old thankfully, missing me by miles even as the brick wall behind me shattered with a thud.
Okay, yeah, he might have looked ridiculous, but that was definitely muscle. I’d heard stories of things like this – Fighting Joes or something like that. Big bruisers that liked to tag along with crimelords and whatnot.
Rightfully, I should have backed the hell off and ran for it. Of course, my brother always said never back down to a bully, or else they’ll just step on you.
Besides, I may have had a few tricks up my sleeve.
I dived past Mingus as he was preparing to pound me into the ground again, not stopping as I used my momentum to cuff pinstripe in the jaw with a steel toed boot just as he was drawing a piece. His mass crumpled the trash can he ran into in half.
Twirling around, I picked up Pinstripe’s gun and aimed it at Mingus – only for it to vanish from my hand in a flash of green light.
I saw a similar flash as the gun apparently reappeared from somewhere behind it, the big lug leering at me menacingly as it popped its oversized knuckles loudly – very, very loudly.
Oi.
I jumped back as it brought its fist down in a bounding leap, shattering the concrete I had been standing on moments ago. Trying not to panic, I stepped in and decked the lipless bastard right in the chin twice, as hard as I freaking could.
He just blinked at me and growled. Did I mention the fact he shrugged off sap gloves made it even more scary?
I was about try and deck him again, before he caught me in the gut with a swing of his ape arm. I remember flying in the air a good six feet before landing on my back next to a dazed Pinstripe, who was now getting up. I was a bit bruised, but I was looking prettier than he was.
His boss chuckled, before kneeling down and grabbing me by my collar, hefting me up a bit woozily with a confident smirk on his face. I ignored him and glanced towards Mingus.
“You hit like his mother.” I wheezed.
“I’m going to rearrange yer face, git.” The thing growled at me in a gravelly voice before trying to hammer me with both fists again. I watched his boss’ face go all saucer eyed as I tore myself out of his grip and dived out of the way, hearing a crunching thud and a scream of pain.
I looked over to see Pinstripe’s face bleeding like mad as he laid there on the pavement; his nose was bent all funny like. Mingus looked like the oversized boy who broke the candy jar as he raised his hands, his knuckles covered in blood.
“Sorry boss.” He said almost sheepishly, before looking at me again with a growl and getting ready to swing his fist.
I didn’t stand around – I snapped my fingers as a brief flash of fire and light went off in Mingus’ face, causing him to reel back with a hiss. That gave me juuuust enough time to swing at his knee with a steel toed boot.
Pinstripe watched with a dazed expression, rather aghast as I laid into Mingles for a few moments as hard as I damn well could. Most humans would have been unconscious or dead with that many blows to the face. It wasn’t human, but I was hoping it was human enough to not reach up and block my punch with his steel beam forearm and then angrily sock me in the jaw in kind.
I might have been wrong, clearly.
I skidded across the ground, my vision cloudy and my hand aching as I rolled to my knees and knees. Had he been in a better position – y’know, standing – he’d have wrecked me. Instead I just felt like I got sucker punched by de la Hoya.
I wiped some blood out of my eye as I watched the smelly sod get up, limping a bit as he cracked his knuckles and spat out a tooth. Its sickly face was all purple, but its beady little eyes still had fire in them.
So I did the smart thing.
“Come and get me, Mingles.” I shouted as I ran for it – not quite in a straight line, but still faster than most people.
Mingus didn’t wait around – he stormed after me, the pavement thudding with each bound as he did. He was fast, too, as soon as he got up to speed anyway. I was nearly in arm’s reach by the time I hit the corner.
Fortunately I weighed much less than he did. Turning a quick corner gave me breathing space as he had to take an extra step to steady himself.
A baseball bat would have been real neat about then, come to think of it.
I turned into a burnt out mom n’ pop store near the Anacostia that likely hadn’t seen business since Mom and Pop burned to death in an arson attack twenty years ago. Believe it or not, I was looking for tight confines – in open space, he was faster than me on the trot, and was likely going to wreck me. Also, this stretch of town was a bit too nutso for me to be flashing what I could do openly if I could avoid it. I didn’t know who the hell else was around, and Pinstripe, though in no condition to tango, may have had friends.
Glass and brick plinked off against decaying wood as Mingus charged in, glancing around for me as I ducked behind a shelf. I could see his beady little eyes peering about trying to find me, his knuckles popping loudly in the dark.
Before you ask, yes, it was as creepy as it sounded.
“I can smell ye, git.” He said, a blackened shelf disintegrating as he flung it into the wall.
“Surprised y’can smell anything with that nose.” I responded.
“Gonna stomp th’ shite outta your pretty little face.” He growled, flinging shelves aside loudly as he went looking for me, the wooden floor creaking heavily in protest beneath him.
Not gonna lie; I needed a few moments to think. My head was still ringing from getting clocked, and my eye was getting blurry. Thinking about it, I realized I’d probably heard of these things before – Fighting Joes, Brawling Joes, something? Idiot strongmen who liked ruckus and tearing people to part with their fists. Looks like Pinstripe did something impressive to get
himself one. Bastard.
I needed something to give me an edge. Fire was the obvious choice, as it always is. Thing was, if beating him in the face wasn’t going to work, he might not have felt fire very much either – the thing was a friggin’ tank.
Besides his strength, his stale liquor and lack of bathing odor was not helping me think… though there was something else there in the air...
Paint thinner?
I looked over; there was a container of it that Mingus half spilled as he stormed past. That gave me an eeeeebil idea.
I picked up a piece of drywall and flung it past Mingles’ backside to get his attention. Of course the dope turned about, flinging a desk out of the way as he went looking for me there.
Quietly shuffling over as he was flinging crap aside, I picked up the bucket of thinner and tossed it at him, splashing his head and shoulders pretty thoroughly. He responded a bit quicker than I’d have thought, swinging his big ol’ arm behind me and knocking me on my ass again, leaving me wheezing as he knocked the wind out of me. The ugly bastard hmphed as he reached down, lifting me up by my coat and smirking at me.
“Not a bright idea, was it?” he guffowed, pulling a fist back as he got ready to frikkin' end me.
"Let's find out.” I wheezed, smirking as my eyes glowed, before the rest of me followed as the room suddenly got bright and warm.
Apparently those big ape hands don’t feel much – only his beady eyes flinched as I went up, the flames illuminating his ugly features. However, the rest of him sure felt something as I reached out with two burning hands, the acetone soaking his body, as well as some of the shelves and the wooden floor ignited with a fwoosh as I burned him with as much juice as I could throw at him.
Mean, y’might say? The bastard was three times my size and all of it was muscle. I ain’t messing around with that shit.
The idiot cried out in surprise and agony s it began to flail about, giving me enough time to use his giant forearm to give me some leverage so I could sock him in the face with my heels. His face made a pretty good springboard, as he predictably let me go while he staggered back, letting me land on my butt.
As he fell onto his back – all 400+ pounds of him, the floor burning beneath him gave way with a crack. I managed to grab onto a desk to save myself just as he and some burning debris took a tumble into the darkness. I heard him cry out as he hit the basement, still rolling about on fire before a series of wooden shelf hit him in the head, stopping him cold as he went limp.
I staggered to my feet and got out of there as the fires began to die down. Fortunately most of the store had been blackened from before anyway, so there wasn’t much to worry about. Still, I didn’t feel like answering a lot of question about what the hell just happened.
Besides, I still had to try and find Caliburn - which I eventually did, after he was safe and sound.
Concussion and busted hand aside, fun night all around.
It was cold as hell in the District that night and I had spent the last three hours looking for Ron. I was cold, annoyed, and no less than three splatterpunks tried to get fresh with me. How the hell Caliburn patrolled this mess was beyond me – maybe I’m the less than patient sort, y’know?
Thus, I was… underwhelmed when a “gent” in a fancy pinstripe with an ugly scar along his lip showed up with a couple goons about twice his size, trying to look all intimidating. He had the look of someone trying to get past the fact someone had thrown him down the stairs one too many times – I’m guessing Caliburn.
“Something I can help y’with, guv?” I asked politely, looking as unimpressed as possible. I don’t think I’m very threatening – but I’m told sometimes I’m kind of a scary chick. It also went in my favor I sensed his cigar before he turned the corner.
“Yeah, I want Caliburn.” He said with a hmph, flicking more chewed than lit cubano aside.
“I'd say try askin’ the locals, but hey’ve been less than helpful for me.” I pointed out, lighting my own smoke.
The man gave me an ugly smirk, “I think you know where he is.”
I snorted as I tucked my zippo away, “I think if you knew I was out looking for him, you’d know that I probably wouldn’t know where he is if I’ve spent three hours in the damn cold looking for him.”
“I suppose not.” He said as his two goons waltzed up, cracking their knuckles, “Nonetheless, you’re the closest thing I have to finding him. I was hopin’ you’d come along with us.”
“I bet you were.” I noted as one of them put his hand on my shoulder – and was promptly head-butted.
I flicked my cigarette in the face of the other goon, blinding him briefly as I swung an elbow to his nose, making contact with a satisfying crack. I followed this with a kick/stomp to the side of his knee to bring him down, stepping out of the way just as the first goon swung a haymaker at me, missing my nose by a couple inches.
“Too slow.” I noted before I laid him out with a nice solid punch to the cheek, catching him with the knuckles of my sap gloves.
The perks of having brothers – they teach you how to throw down, and to always bring sap gloves to the dance.
I was a bit worried though – the big man was just standing there, smirking.
“That wasn’t bad.” The scarred man said with a shrug, before snapping his fingers. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard something thudding about.
“Aye, boss?” I heard a deep voice say, just as I started to smell stale liquor from somewhere.
A large – really large – figure came up from behind the would be crime-lord. He probably wasn’t too much taller than me, but he looked like he was wearing XXXL shirts and pants as he had at least four times as much muscle as me. He was in – get this – a three piece suit that had to have been custom tailored for his massive frame.
His face looked like he had jaundice, apparently had no eyelashes, and his eyes were a shade of yellow matching his teeth. Oddly enough, there was some sort of sigil branded in his forehead. Couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it was though.
“She’s all yours, Mingus, but keep her alive.” Pinstripe noted as he motioned to me. The ugly lug leered at me as it pounded its giant knuckles together – did I mention this thing’s arms were huge? He looked like friggin’ Popeye.
“I’ll try, boss.” The thing said as it took a large swig of liquor from a bottle, much of the whiskey running down his chin before he shattered the empty container against the wall to his right.
I was unimpressed, “You're so ugly that you can sink your face in dough and make monster cookies.”
I thought it was clever.
He didn’t think it was funny. He narrowed his eyes at me before he took a big ol’ haymaker swing. He telegraphed like an 8 year old thankfully, missing me by miles even as the brick wall behind me shattered with a thud.
Okay, yeah, he might have looked ridiculous, but that was definitely muscle. I’d heard stories of things like this – Fighting Joes or something like that. Big bruisers that liked to tag along with crimelords and whatnot.
Rightfully, I should have backed the hell off and ran for it. Of course, my brother always said never back down to a bully, or else they’ll just step on you.
Besides, I may have had a few tricks up my sleeve.
I dived past Mingus as he was preparing to pound me into the ground again, not stopping as I used my momentum to cuff pinstripe in the jaw with a steel toed boot just as he was drawing a piece. His mass crumpled the trash can he ran into in half.
Twirling around, I picked up Pinstripe’s gun and aimed it at Mingus – only for it to vanish from my hand in a flash of green light.
I saw a similar flash as the gun apparently reappeared from somewhere behind it, the big lug leering at me menacingly as it popped its oversized knuckles loudly – very, very loudly.
Oi.
I jumped back as it brought its fist down in a bounding leap, shattering the concrete I had been standing on moments ago. Trying not to panic, I stepped in and decked the lipless bastard right in the chin twice, as hard as I freaking could.
He just blinked at me and growled. Did I mention the fact he shrugged off sap gloves made it even more scary?
I was about try and deck him again, before he caught me in the gut with a swing of his ape arm. I remember flying in the air a good six feet before landing on my back next to a dazed Pinstripe, who was now getting up. I was a bit bruised, but I was looking prettier than he was.
His boss chuckled, before kneeling down and grabbing me by my collar, hefting me up a bit woozily with a confident smirk on his face. I ignored him and glanced towards Mingus.
“You hit like his mother.” I wheezed.
“I’m going to rearrange yer face, git.” The thing growled at me in a gravelly voice before trying to hammer me with both fists again. I watched his boss’ face go all saucer eyed as I tore myself out of his grip and dived out of the way, hearing a crunching thud and a scream of pain.
I looked over to see Pinstripe’s face bleeding like mad as he laid there on the pavement; his nose was bent all funny like. Mingus looked like the oversized boy who broke the candy jar as he raised his hands, his knuckles covered in blood.
“Sorry boss.” He said almost sheepishly, before looking at me again with a growl and getting ready to swing his fist.
I didn’t stand around – I snapped my fingers as a brief flash of fire and light went off in Mingus’ face, causing him to reel back with a hiss. That gave me juuuust enough time to swing at his knee with a steel toed boot.
Pinstripe watched with a dazed expression, rather aghast as I laid into Mingles for a few moments as hard as I damn well could. Most humans would have been unconscious or dead with that many blows to the face. It wasn’t human, but I was hoping it was human enough to not reach up and block my punch with his steel beam forearm and then angrily sock me in the jaw in kind.
I might have been wrong, clearly.
I skidded across the ground, my vision cloudy and my hand aching as I rolled to my knees and knees. Had he been in a better position – y’know, standing – he’d have wrecked me. Instead I just felt like I got sucker punched by de la Hoya.
I wiped some blood out of my eye as I watched the smelly sod get up, limping a bit as he cracked his knuckles and spat out a tooth. Its sickly face was all purple, but its beady little eyes still had fire in them.
So I did the smart thing.
“Come and get me, Mingles.” I shouted as I ran for it – not quite in a straight line, but still faster than most people.
Mingus didn’t wait around – he stormed after me, the pavement thudding with each bound as he did. He was fast, too, as soon as he got up to speed anyway. I was nearly in arm’s reach by the time I hit the corner.
Fortunately I weighed much less than he did. Turning a quick corner gave me breathing space as he had to take an extra step to steady himself.
A baseball bat would have been real neat about then, come to think of it.
I turned into a burnt out mom n’ pop store near the Anacostia that likely hadn’t seen business since Mom and Pop burned to death in an arson attack twenty years ago. Believe it or not, I was looking for tight confines – in open space, he was faster than me on the trot, and was likely going to wreck me. Also, this stretch of town was a bit too nutso for me to be flashing what I could do openly if I could avoid it. I didn’t know who the hell else was around, and Pinstripe, though in no condition to tango, may have had friends.
Glass and brick plinked off against decaying wood as Mingus charged in, glancing around for me as I ducked behind a shelf. I could see his beady little eyes peering about trying to find me, his knuckles popping loudly in the dark.
Before you ask, yes, it was as creepy as it sounded.
“I can smell ye, git.” He said, a blackened shelf disintegrating as he flung it into the wall.
“Surprised y’can smell anything with that nose.” I responded.
“Gonna stomp th’ shite outta your pretty little face.” He growled, flinging shelves aside loudly as he went looking for me, the wooden floor creaking heavily in protest beneath him.
Not gonna lie; I needed a few moments to think. My head was still ringing from getting clocked, and my eye was getting blurry. Thinking about it, I realized I’d probably heard of these things before – Fighting Joes, Brawling Joes, something? Idiot strongmen who liked ruckus and tearing people to part with their fists. Looks like Pinstripe did something impressive to get
himself one. Bastard.
I needed something to give me an edge. Fire was the obvious choice, as it always is. Thing was, if beating him in the face wasn’t going to work, he might not have felt fire very much either – the thing was a friggin’ tank.
Besides his strength, his stale liquor and lack of bathing odor was not helping me think… though there was something else there in the air...
Paint thinner?
I looked over; there was a container of it that Mingus half spilled as he stormed past. That gave me an eeeeebil idea.
I picked up a piece of drywall and flung it past Mingles’ backside to get his attention. Of course the dope turned about, flinging a desk out of the way as he went looking for me there.
Quietly shuffling over as he was flinging crap aside, I picked up the bucket of thinner and tossed it at him, splashing his head and shoulders pretty thoroughly. He responded a bit quicker than I’d have thought, swinging his big ol’ arm behind me and knocking me on my ass again, leaving me wheezing as he knocked the wind out of me. The ugly bastard hmphed as he reached down, lifting me up by my coat and smirking at me.
“Not a bright idea, was it?” he guffowed, pulling a fist back as he got ready to frikkin' end me.
"Let's find out.” I wheezed, smirking as my eyes glowed, before the rest of me followed as the room suddenly got bright and warm.
Apparently those big ape hands don’t feel much – only his beady eyes flinched as I went up, the flames illuminating his ugly features. However, the rest of him sure felt something as I reached out with two burning hands, the acetone soaking his body, as well as some of the shelves and the wooden floor ignited with a fwoosh as I burned him with as much juice as I could throw at him.
Mean, y’might say? The bastard was three times my size and all of it was muscle. I ain’t messing around with that shit.
The idiot cried out in surprise and agony s it began to flail about, giving me enough time to use his giant forearm to give me some leverage so I could sock him in the face with my heels. His face made a pretty good springboard, as he predictably let me go while he staggered back, letting me land on my butt.
As he fell onto his back – all 400+ pounds of him, the floor burning beneath him gave way with a crack. I managed to grab onto a desk to save myself just as he and some burning debris took a tumble into the darkness. I heard him cry out as he hit the basement, still rolling about on fire before a series of wooden shelf hit him in the head, stopping him cold as he went limp.
I staggered to my feet and got out of there as the fires began to die down. Fortunately most of the store had been blackened from before anyway, so there wasn’t much to worry about. Still, I didn’t feel like answering a lot of question about what the hell just happened.
Besides, I still had to try and find Caliburn - which I eventually did, after he was safe and sound.
Concussion and busted hand aside, fun night all around.