She said, "We're dressed in black, head to toe,
We've got guns hidden under our petticoats
And we're never gonna quit it, no, we're never gonna quit it, no."
Bang.
She held the gun, like warm melting chocolate in her hand, and pulled the trigger against one of the guy's heads and before he could even turn to look at the gir-
Bang.
"Alright baby, come on! Let's fuck!" She sneered to the mass of staggering drunkards that crowded before her in a collective, growing fear.
The fear was absolutely rational.
They were up against Revy. Two Hands, Father-murderer, Rum-downer, No-nonsense Revy.
They were shit out of their luck.
They knew it, she knew it, her useless partner Rock knew it. If any of them had any sense, he would have yelled at the lot of them to scram. "Let's bail!" he'd say, and maybe, just maybe, their lives would be spared.
But who's ever known a sensible drunkard?
So they charged forward, the lot of them, with an unmatched indignation burning in their hearts (that would really only beat for the next few minutes or so, the poor shmucks). It took less than a second for her, experienced and lethal like a panther that had just spotted its next afternoon snack, to draw her other eager friend from the side of her armpit and cut through the crowd with effortless swift shots. Her gunshots echoed inside the small bar, the sound of lead ricocheting off the walls resonant and beautiful against the growing screams of complete agony. The bar became dyed with a deep velvet wine, with the occasional limb hanging off the broken booth tables. Her clear, vibrant gunshots were the only heaven inside a panic-driven hell. She didn't realize a room full of screaming corpses could ever feel so calming...
And that's how the Black Lagoon ended up paying Bao repair expenses for the sixteenth time.
"Agh, I got it Dutch! I got it alright! I'll take 'em outside next time," she sulked, sitting in a heap on the cabin floor. The crew was in the middle of finishing up errands: Benny had to fix up his whatever-the-hell-you-called-it equipment, Dutch was halfway to giving up on the stubborn engine, and Revy had been downing three bottles of tequila in less time than humanly possible.
"No, you don't 'got' anything. Do you know how many times we've had to pay him back? Do we look like we're made of fucking money, Revy?"
"..."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
Revy sighed loudly, pulling herself up to take a shower. "Shut it, Dutch. I'll bring back a big pay next time and you won't be able to say shit about how I spend money!"
"That's if you manage not to kill our next client!" He shouted from the other side of the room. "God damn it," he muttered. He walked up to the deck of the boat in search of the only reasonable guy on the team. After a few minutes of checking around, he groaned and went for a beer.
Where was that damn Rock when you needed him?
Chocolate by The 1975
.
.
.
Black Lagoon is brilliant.
Love love love it.
Anyway, this was Chapter 1 of a few-chapters-long short story. Was intending to make it a one shot but my patience ran thin. Any feedback is greatly appreciated! :)
...
Btdubs, I don't own Black Lagoon. The last time I tried to get my people to negotiate anything with anyone, I ended up with half a pack of gummy bears as a consolation prize.
They weren't even the good flavors.
:|