DISCLAIMER: Ok, I don't own anything...unfortunately. If I did, I'd have pounced on the Joker ages ago. All I own is the idea, and of course, modern Tira and her clothes and all that jazz. *grins evilly*
Sorry if they are a bit OOC, but I figured with that much time alive, Tira would have changed at least a little bit. If anyone has any suggestions or to point out anything I messed up, just message me either on here, PM, or email. Reviews are always appreciated, and constructive criticism is welcome. Sorry it's a bit short, but i write my stuff first, then type it up, so I get lazy...
BUT ON WITH THE STORY!!!!
Roll Me Through the Gates of Hell
Chapter One: Just a Girl
Take this pink ribbon off my eyes
I'm exposed
And it's no big surprise
Don't you think I know
Exactly where I stand
This world is forcing me
To hold your hand
'Cause I'm just a girl, little 'ol me
Don't let me out of your sight
I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite
So don't let me have any rights
-No Doubt "Just a Girl"
A black van weaved its way through the congested streets of Gotham, truly the city that never sleeps. Without any warning, it whipped around, causing a cacophony of cusses and horns to sound as it cut across the 2 lanes leading in the opposite direction it had formerly been heading in. This particular show of fine driving skills lifted the large vehicle off all four wheels, leaving it only on a mere two as it continued around the turn. only righting itself once the car had fully made it around the bend. Sirens could be heard echoing throughout the city, but with so much crime, the police department did not have the time or resources to worry about driving violations.
Messy, unnaturally teal colored hair flashed through the dark shadows growing longer, creating a grotesque, stretched out humanoid reflection on the sidewalk as the sun began to set. The figure appeared to have a large, circular object on its back, attributing an even odder quality to the shadow.
Navigating the notoriously savage streets like only a native could, the figure stepped under the protective light of one of the few undamaged street lamps, the dark figure revealed itself as a lithe female with a delicate face. She was wearing a long, dark purple duster trimmed in light green fur, an unusual, if not taboo, color choice for someone in Gotham. A lopsided grin graced her dainty, almost ethereal face as she resumed her path along the dark, trash strewn streets.
Her gait slowed down considerably now that she had reached more open streets, the woman continued along her course with eerily catlike grace. Passing by a seedy bar lit brightly by flashing neon signs, a few men standing outside leered at her passing form, seemingly memorizing the way her hips lilted from side to side as she walked.
The three men shared a look and followed her path with their eyes, patiently waiting until she had left the relative safety of the neon light. The men in question look to one another before hastily taking clown masks from hidden places among their person, each expression different, before beginning the chase. Following the echo of her heals, the woman was not difficult to locate, and the three quickly caught up with her lazy pace.
The leader of the men, a stocky man of average height with dark hair cut close to the scalp and wearing last week's dirty laundry, stepped in front of the woman, easily blocking her path, effectively cutting her off. His lips raised in a parody of menace, an expression obviously meant to frighten the female, but it was never seen by her, as he had forgotten the clown mask covering his face.
"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to wander by yourself at night?" He asked gruffly, his slurred made more discernable by the mask. The other two men fell into ranks, one standing slightly behind and off to the side of their leader. The front man, the one with grease and other undesirable substances on his clothing, flicked open a rusty switchblade and stumbled toward the woman.
Tira smiled inwardly at the men's antics. Deciding to play along for now, she gathered her coat closer about her person, feigning fear as she used her hand obscured by the coat to discreetly remove the casing of her ring blade. To the common, modern observer, her large chakram like weapon would simply appear to be an ornate hoola-hoop; No one would ever imagine the true carnage the deceptively innocent object was capable of.
Letting her new plaything roughly grip her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, he held the switch blade to her throat, silently threatening to shed blood if she failed to cooperate.
Expecting fearful tears of desperation and pleas for freedom, what the men got was far from what they had been anticipating. Dropping the helpless damsel act, Tira slid her coat bonelessly off her shoulder, switching her hoop between hands in order to let the heavy piece of cloth fall to the damp street in a lifeless heap at her feet. A large, Cheshire grin graced her features, the look in her unusual colored violet eyes wild and unrestrained
Seeing her tight purple leather pants ending at her thigh high dark green heeled boots, her upper body covered by a green, sleeveless, neck-high shirt with a vaguely trapezoid shape cut out, revealing her pale, unblemished cleavage, the men were having difficulties taking their eyes off the form in front of them. Along her rib cage, an obvious section of the shirt had been torn away, the two parts held together by a type of thick, light purple colored wire lacing that ran between the edges of both halves. Completing the odd ensemble were a pair of tight, opera length, light purple fingerless gloves, the right one ripped and laced up from just below the elbow and ending at her bicep. The man in front of her let out a wheezy laugh at the sight, his two friends following his lead and chuckling drunkenly.
"Aww, look at that, boys! The little lady thinks she stands a chance against us!" he spit out.
"Now, you can behave like a good little girl, or we might just have to put a few love marks onto that pretty little face of yours."
With that, he pushed the switchblade harder against her throat, hard enough to draw a thin sliver of blood.
Licking her lips, a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. Gripping her chin once again, the man forced her to meet his eyes, but the sight that met him caused his blood to freeze in his veins rather than burn with arousal like it should, like it usually did when he had a woman in such a position.
No, this girl was not like any of the others he had taken advantage of like this.
The look in her eyes scared him to the bone.
Not because the terrifying, unbridled gaze was found in such a small, helpless looking girl, though that certainly didn't help, no, it was because what he saw in her eyes when he looked into them was the exact same one he saw in his boss's eyes when he was creating chaos.