Chapter Three:
Tone deaf!
"Didn't I kick your ass enough last time?" she demanded, crossing her arms. Johnny glared furiously at her. He moved toward her slowly and deliberately, the knife reflecting the flashing strobe lights, and dove upon her with blinding speed. "If you ruin this corset I'm gonna have to break your kneecaps."
"Funny, I was thinking of doing the same thing to you." he hissed.
"Can we get this over with? You kind of killed my fuck buddy, so now I have to find a new one."
Johnny shuddered at the thought of actually touching another human being, and slashed at her again with his knife. She dodged easily, landing a few taunting punches and kicks in the process. She wasn't really trying to hurt him, just annoy him to the point of insanity. She doubted he needed any help with that venture.
"God, you suck at this game!" she cried, leaping onto a nearby table. He was running on pure hatred, now. Never in all his life had he wanted to kill someone so badly.
NEVER!
In an instant he had her by the throat and was dragging her off into the darkness. It did not occur to him that she'd evaded his attacks thus far, but suddenly with great ease he'd caught her. She did not cry out for help, nor did she seem even at all phased by the fact that he'd slung her over his shoulder and was now headed toward his run-down house.
In fact, she seemed wholly amused.
Down into the basement they went, the entire time Johnny kept muttering about how wonderfully dead she would soon be. Gypsy didn't bother struggling. She'd been bored, after all, and if she couldn't screw, she'd have to settle on masochism. Who knew? Maybe this skinny, spiky-haired boy was better at torture than he was at hand-to-hand combat.
She was shackled to a wall, now. The boy was rummaging through a large, wooden chest, searching for something, giving the young thief a chance to examine her surroundings. She spied several corpses nearby, and a dead rabbit nailed to the wall. Once again, if Gypsy were the type of girl who actually listened to the voices in her head – this still being the kind that tell a person when they're in danger – she would have known enough to be afraid. She, of course, was not.
"Are we going to get underway here?" she asked, growing impatient. A sound CRACK was heard when his fist connected with her face, but instead of crying out she simply spat the blood from her split lip onto the floor and waited. "You know, that really aroused me more than anything else."
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, hitting her again.
"You ought to stop that. You're really starting to get me hot." This comment was rewarded with another hard punch to the torso, then the boy drew a dozen throwing-stars from the pile of frightening-looking torture devices. "Oh fuck," she muttered, spitting more blood at his feet. "you've got toys."
~*~
It had been hours. He'd electrocuted her, pummeled her, set fire to her flesh, and just about everything else he could think of, but she'd yet to cry out in pain. In fact, despite the blood and bruises…and burn marks, she seemed to be enjoying herself.
"You…stupid…bitch. Why won't you DIE?!" he said, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"I dunno." She replied, shrugging. "Don't feel like it right now."
"What the fuck does it take?!" He began twitching.
"Hey, man, calm down!" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You know you're not the first person to try to kill me."
Johnny C. glared at her, and sat cross-legged in front of her.
"I'm listening." he said, slowly. Perhaps she would tell him where they had failed, so that he might succeed. Instead of divulging doom tactics, however, she simply rubbed her temples and muttered something under her breath.
"Look, I'm not sure why you're so pissed at me. If you really want your stupid dagger back, you can have it. I've got plenty of coin for now." she stated, lowering her hands in a defeated gesture. Johnny's eyes widened, then one narrowed. That was still just as disturbing as it had been earlier that night.
"Really?" he asked.
"Sure. In fact, I'll even pay for your dry-cleaning, so you can get those cherry-freezy stains outa your clothes." she said.
"Why?" he demanded, pointing at her accusingly. "'Cause you feel sorry for me?!"
"Um…no…because this is getting us nowhere."
Johnny puzzled over this a moment. She was right; the torture was getting them nowhere. Also, though he hid it from her, he HAD tried to kill her. When it did not succeed, however, he wrote it off as another wound of revenge. After a moment of deliberation he decided that if he could not kill her he would at least get his clothes cleaned for his trouble.
He unlocked her shackles, and waited impatiently for her to gather herself. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a chrome-plated lighter. Before he had a chance to tell her that he loathed smokers, she had it lit. She didn't seem to be the type to care if his lungs burned from her second-hand smoke anyway.
"Okay," she said, exhaling the tobacco through her nose. "let's go then."
"Where are we going?" he inquired, making one eye larger than the other…again.
"Well, I've got to go get your dagger, and since we're headed in that direction I might as well drop off a package at Fed-Ex." She replied.
"Right…"
"Hey, quick question." She said, adjusting her glasses; which were remarkably unscathed. Johnny crossed his arms and inclined his head, signaling her to continue. "Got a name?"
"Why do you care?" he demanded.
"Well…" she paused and took another long drag of her cigarette. "Because I usually get the names of my assassins."
"Johnny C." he muttered, running a hand through his hair. She grinned and snubbed the butt of the spent smoke on the heal of her boot.
"Was that so hard?"
"Yes."
"Well, Johnny C., my name is Gypsy."
"I don't care." Snapped the boy. She rolled her eyes and began humming, which eventually erupted into a full-blown song.
"How swe-e-e-e-e-et it is to be loathed by you – by you!" she sang, lighting another cigarette. Johnny was beginning to wonder if he'd damaged her brain-meats during the beatings. If he were not relatively certain she was unkillable, he would have already impaled her three or four times by the second verse.
Tone deaf!
"Didn't I kick your ass enough last time?" she demanded, crossing her arms. Johnny glared furiously at her. He moved toward her slowly and deliberately, the knife reflecting the flashing strobe lights, and dove upon her with blinding speed. "If you ruin this corset I'm gonna have to break your kneecaps."
"Funny, I was thinking of doing the same thing to you." he hissed.
"Can we get this over with? You kind of killed my fuck buddy, so now I have to find a new one."
Johnny shuddered at the thought of actually touching another human being, and slashed at her again with his knife. She dodged easily, landing a few taunting punches and kicks in the process. She wasn't really trying to hurt him, just annoy him to the point of insanity. She doubted he needed any help with that venture.
"God, you suck at this game!" she cried, leaping onto a nearby table. He was running on pure hatred, now. Never in all his life had he wanted to kill someone so badly.
NEVER!
In an instant he had her by the throat and was dragging her off into the darkness. It did not occur to him that she'd evaded his attacks thus far, but suddenly with great ease he'd caught her. She did not cry out for help, nor did she seem even at all phased by the fact that he'd slung her over his shoulder and was now headed toward his run-down house.
In fact, she seemed wholly amused.
Down into the basement they went, the entire time Johnny kept muttering about how wonderfully dead she would soon be. Gypsy didn't bother struggling. She'd been bored, after all, and if she couldn't screw, she'd have to settle on masochism. Who knew? Maybe this skinny, spiky-haired boy was better at torture than he was at hand-to-hand combat.
She was shackled to a wall, now. The boy was rummaging through a large, wooden chest, searching for something, giving the young thief a chance to examine her surroundings. She spied several corpses nearby, and a dead rabbit nailed to the wall. Once again, if Gypsy were the type of girl who actually listened to the voices in her head – this still being the kind that tell a person when they're in danger – she would have known enough to be afraid. She, of course, was not.
"Are we going to get underway here?" she asked, growing impatient. A sound CRACK was heard when his fist connected with her face, but instead of crying out she simply spat the blood from her split lip onto the floor and waited. "You know, that really aroused me more than anything else."
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, hitting her again.
"You ought to stop that. You're really starting to get me hot." This comment was rewarded with another hard punch to the torso, then the boy drew a dozen throwing-stars from the pile of frightening-looking torture devices. "Oh fuck," she muttered, spitting more blood at his feet. "you've got toys."
~*~
It had been hours. He'd electrocuted her, pummeled her, set fire to her flesh, and just about everything else he could think of, but she'd yet to cry out in pain. In fact, despite the blood and bruises…and burn marks, she seemed to be enjoying herself.
"You…stupid…bitch. Why won't you DIE?!" he said, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"I dunno." She replied, shrugging. "Don't feel like it right now."
"What the fuck does it take?!" He began twitching.
"Hey, man, calm down!" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You know you're not the first person to try to kill me."
Johnny C. glared at her, and sat cross-legged in front of her.
"I'm listening." he said, slowly. Perhaps she would tell him where they had failed, so that he might succeed. Instead of divulging doom tactics, however, she simply rubbed her temples and muttered something under her breath.
"Look, I'm not sure why you're so pissed at me. If you really want your stupid dagger back, you can have it. I've got plenty of coin for now." she stated, lowering her hands in a defeated gesture. Johnny's eyes widened, then one narrowed. That was still just as disturbing as it had been earlier that night.
"Really?" he asked.
"Sure. In fact, I'll even pay for your dry-cleaning, so you can get those cherry-freezy stains outa your clothes." she said.
"Why?" he demanded, pointing at her accusingly. "'Cause you feel sorry for me?!"
"Um…no…because this is getting us nowhere."
Johnny puzzled over this a moment. She was right; the torture was getting them nowhere. Also, though he hid it from her, he HAD tried to kill her. When it did not succeed, however, he wrote it off as another wound of revenge. After a moment of deliberation he decided that if he could not kill her he would at least get his clothes cleaned for his trouble.
He unlocked her shackles, and waited impatiently for her to gather herself. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a chrome-plated lighter. Before he had a chance to tell her that he loathed smokers, she had it lit. She didn't seem to be the type to care if his lungs burned from her second-hand smoke anyway.
"Okay," she said, exhaling the tobacco through her nose. "let's go then."
"Where are we going?" he inquired, making one eye larger than the other…again.
"Well, I've got to go get your dagger, and since we're headed in that direction I might as well drop off a package at Fed-Ex." She replied.
"Right…"
"Hey, quick question." She said, adjusting her glasses; which were remarkably unscathed. Johnny crossed his arms and inclined his head, signaling her to continue. "Got a name?"
"Why do you care?" he demanded.
"Well…" she paused and took another long drag of her cigarette. "Because I usually get the names of my assassins."
"Johnny C." he muttered, running a hand through his hair. She grinned and snubbed the butt of the spent smoke on the heal of her boot.
"Was that so hard?"
"Yes."
"Well, Johnny C., my name is Gypsy."
"I don't care." Snapped the boy. She rolled her eyes and began humming, which eventually erupted into a full-blown song.
"How swe-e-e-e-e-et it is to be loathed by you – by you!" she sang, lighting another cigarette. Johnny was beginning to wonder if he'd damaged her brain-meats during the beatings. If he were not relatively certain she was unkillable, he would have already impaled her three or four times by the second verse.
