Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, Little Women, etc etc.
Gloves. Always the freaking gloves.
Jo March considered herself an intelligent, if somewhat foolhardy, young lady. Years of philosophical conversations and tripping over her feet had proved to her that despite an above-average IQ, she, more often than not, was bound to fall on her face.
And exercise her fat mouth.
Tonight, for instance. In a severe case of deja vu, Jo had spilt one of her multiple cups of coffee on her favorite pair of gloves. In the flurry to try to clean the stain, Jo managed to knock the whole pot of coffee onto her somewhat fine dress. One hurried call to Amy and Jo attacked the dress with a passion, snipping away a cutout design which, according to her sister, was the new THING in Paris. The end result giant gap on a formerly pretty dress. When she slipped the dress onto her gaunt form, it bared her lower back for all to see.
Maybe if I wear a coat no one will notice...
Jo flew around the room, gathered her purse, took down her hair. A quick glance in the mirror showed a striking resemblance to a young horse. Sighing softly, Jo ran to the door, jabbed her key in and...
It stuck tight.
Fire escape.
Prying her single window open, Jo kicked off her shoes and clambered onto the tiny platform. Three Hail Mary's later and Jo scurried down the ladder, getting scraped and bumped along the way, hair pins falling in her face.
One last jump to safety, and Jo found herself staring face-first into the barrel of a gun.
"Hands up, face to the ground."
Stifling her groan, Jo slowly lowered herself to the ground, peeking out from the side of her eyes to try to catch a glimpse of her attacker. The man seemed thin and weak, but he held a pistol and seemed to be drunk. Drunk was dangerous.
Fumbling around, the man shoved his foot on top of her back.
"Give me your money."
"Fat chance, jerk."
The man paused, seeming shocked that she would dare to challenge his authority.
"Excuse me?"
"Have you seen the economy? Thing is shit. I'm more scared of my landlady than of you."
"Shut up bitch."
"That was a mistake."
The lights went dim.
What the...
Behind her, Jo could hear the sounds of a quick, but violent struggle. Springing to her feet, she turned around to find her attacker sprinting off into the distance, leaving behind a man in a mask. He took a sudden step towards her, grabbing her hand in his calloused grip.
Who does he think he is?! Fucking savior complex.
"Get. off." She shoved his hand away and held her bag in front like a shield.
"Excuse me?" he said.
"I had it covered, you know."
The masked man chuckled.
"Oh yes, by the way you were being pinned to the ground, it was obvious that you were OK." Jo sighed.
"Don't need any sass from you, mister. Now will you let me go? I have a prior engagement."
With a huff, she walked away, before realizing she was headed in the wrong direction. Squaring her shoulders, she stacked back down the alley, much to the amusement of her savior, if his chuckle was any indicator. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was gone.
Weird.
"If you're still here." Jo called out. "I'm sorry I was rude. My stubbornness is chronic. But anyways, thank you...a lot. Whoever you are. Yep."
As much as Jo wanted to crawl into her bed with a beer, the annoying rational part of her knew that she was already half an hour late to the stupid fundraiser. The party was something the old Teddy would have scorned, but apparently this new Laurie had a taste for suck ups and blonde bimbos.
With a tired sigh, Jo walked to the main road and hailed a taxi. It was going to be a long night.
