~a/n: okay, okay, I had to do it. I had to get something from Isadora's perspective. The temptation was just too much. So now, as I sit here eating the jell-o I made before chapter one, I throw myself at you and beg your pardon for beginning ANOTHER story with no more plot than random strings of events. It doesn't mean I don't love you, and it doesn't mean I don't feel your need for a real, progressive story, it only means that I can't leave this story unfinished. This one takes place at the same time as the first chapter, and like the first it's named only for the CKY song I'm rocking out to out this moment. PS--beware of really, REALLY bad couplets--I did the best I could, my lovelies.

F l e s h i n t o G e a r

Isadora heard the snap of her thin hands against her cheek before she actually felt the pain of the blow. She felt the heat of the blood rushing to her face and subconsciously placed her hand against it.

The pale woman left and Isadora sat back on her heels. She rubbed her sore cheek and winced as her finger touched the purple bruise around her eye. She wondered fleetingly how Duncan was--when she left with the powder-faced woman he had been kicked in the stomach by the long-nosed fellow and coughing a bit of blood.

Isadora was fairly certain that she and her brother would never see the outside world again. For a moment she thought about her old room, the big bedroom that with a divider separating her from Duncan and Quigley's bunk bed. She thought about Prufrock, the room she shared with another girl, and how much she wished they were still there. It was funny the way she used to wish she was anywhere else.....and now the only place she wanted to be was there. She almost missed Nero's miserable violin playing, and Carmelita's rude remarks.

......almost.

She sighed miserably and laid her head against the wall, fighting back tears. The last thing she needed right now was tears clouding her judgment. They needed to get out of here, and she needed to focus on that, not on how miserable she felt at the moment.

"We have to get away, death follows should we stay," she commented with a hollow laugh. "I think I've rather lost my knack for it." Something in the next room thumped loudly and a shriek tore through the air. Suddenly she wondered what it was--was Duncan involved? Her stomach turned over and she took a steadying breath.

As bad as the couplet was, she knew that it was a more than accurate description of the situation at hand.