Author: Chippewa Livingston
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Game over.
I tried to think like a beach ball. The crowd that had been watching me high-kick in a short skirt was now trying to figure out who was enemy, and who was friend. The combination of adrenaline and confusion was turning it into a free-for-all.
I'd already made up my mind. "Jack" was the only friend around. Anything else was either target, or cover.
Mostly cover, actually. I'm short enough that when I bend my knees, most of the wilder swings go over my head. It was just a matter of not getting stepped on, and sliding out of the way when someone got shoved in my direction.
By Brownian motion, I made my (random) way towards where my man and my new coat had been. Of course, someone else was there instead. Manticore didn't raise stupid soldiers, or at least not any that lived.
I side-stepped the stoner who had been playing Asteroids. He was riding the crowd with a smile like he remembered some fantastic mosh-pit experience back in the '90s. Idiot.
A hand closed on my wrist. I identified a black leather jacket with way too much metal, and a really incredible assortment of light-emitting earrings. The black eyeshadow matched his nail-polish.
"Where's the little tart?" he demanded, and tried to push me backwards.
"Who wants to know?" I put my other hand on top of his, and went with his direction, only more towards the floor. A long step backwards dragged him with me, and he got distracted by the floor hitting his face.
Roxane would have answered him more politely. I kicked him in the ribs, and slid away towards the back door. Just in time. Someone else tripped over him. Too bad.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun to block, but recognized "Jack's" quick, tight smile before I decked him. He didn't have the coat, but I'd forgive him for that.
Sirens. "Back door, now!" I wanted to be gone.
He turned away from me, and I grabbed his sleeve. He kept going, and I was left with panic, and a small piece of shirt. He tucked himself under the fake nosecone of something with blinking lights, and came back out with a bundle wrapped in my coat.
"Right behind you." He hefted whatever it was over one shoulder, and the two of us were at the back door as the lights went off and the police came in.
I didn't stop until we were a block away, in an unlit alley decorated with a trashed car and empty packing cartons.
"Let me out!" insisted a muffled voice. That's when I noticed that my coat had bony legs, and feet. Roxanne was instantly envious of the shiny footwear, but I mentally told her to shut up.
"It's okay," he said. "You don't need to run." He set the package down on its feet, and unwrapped my coat.
My first impression—too young and too fragile to be a threat. She looked to be about fourteen.
My second impression was that there was money involved. Her eyes were an artificial green, and an abstract pattern of curves glowed green on her face. The luminous stripes in her hair were definitely paint. Some of it had rubbed off on the inside of my jacket.
"What did you bring that along for?" I asked him.
"Three guys chased her into the arcade."
The girl nodded her agreement, and tugged her sweater sleeves back over her skinny arms. "Thanks. I'm Lucid."
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Game over.
I tried to think like a beach ball. The crowd that had been watching me high-kick in a short skirt was now trying to figure out who was enemy, and who was friend. The combination of adrenaline and confusion was turning it into a free-for-all.
I'd already made up my mind. "Jack" was the only friend around. Anything else was either target, or cover.
Mostly cover, actually. I'm short enough that when I bend my knees, most of the wilder swings go over my head. It was just a matter of not getting stepped on, and sliding out of the way when someone got shoved in my direction.
By Brownian motion, I made my (random) way towards where my man and my new coat had been. Of course, someone else was there instead. Manticore didn't raise stupid soldiers, or at least not any that lived.
I side-stepped the stoner who had been playing Asteroids. He was riding the crowd with a smile like he remembered some fantastic mosh-pit experience back in the '90s. Idiot.
A hand closed on my wrist. I identified a black leather jacket with way too much metal, and a really incredible assortment of light-emitting earrings. The black eyeshadow matched his nail-polish.
"Where's the little tart?" he demanded, and tried to push me backwards.
"Who wants to know?" I put my other hand on top of his, and went with his direction, only more towards the floor. A long step backwards dragged him with me, and he got distracted by the floor hitting his face.
Roxane would have answered him more politely. I kicked him in the ribs, and slid away towards the back door. Just in time. Someone else tripped over him. Too bad.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun to block, but recognized "Jack's" quick, tight smile before I decked him. He didn't have the coat, but I'd forgive him for that.
Sirens. "Back door, now!" I wanted to be gone.
He turned away from me, and I grabbed his sleeve. He kept going, and I was left with panic, and a small piece of shirt. He tucked himself under the fake nosecone of something with blinking lights, and came back out with a bundle wrapped in my coat.
"Right behind you." He hefted whatever it was over one shoulder, and the two of us were at the back door as the lights went off and the police came in.
I didn't stop until we were a block away, in an unlit alley decorated with a trashed car and empty packing cartons.
"Let me out!" insisted a muffled voice. That's when I noticed that my coat had bony legs, and feet. Roxanne was instantly envious of the shiny footwear, but I mentally told her to shut up.
"It's okay," he said. "You don't need to run." He set the package down on its feet, and unwrapped my coat.
My first impression—too young and too fragile to be a threat. She looked to be about fourteen.
My second impression was that there was money involved. Her eyes were an artificial green, and an abstract pattern of curves glowed green on her face. The luminous stripes in her hair were definitely paint. Some of it had rubbed off on the inside of my jacket.
"What did you bring that along for?" I asked him.
"Three guys chased her into the arcade."
The girl nodded her agreement, and tugged her sweater sleeves back over her skinny arms. "Thanks. I'm Lucid."