"Dolly," blood-thirsty and very, very spitefully Bullseye breathed out,
finding her behind his door again.
She was wearing the costume of death, however, losing her sand-bar somewhere. All her body was covered with the black cape, but he quickly recognized the convex shapes, that were visible through the fabric. The bend of her arm, the roundness of the left breast and just under it -- oh, pleasure -- her warm, trembling heart, which is so easy to pierce. Yes, it was trembling, but this mistake could be easy fixed.
His face, always reminding of the screen, on which slides are usually shown, was changing its expression with the speed of the flashed staffs (the whole array of human and not really human emotions could be shown there within a second -- from the mindless, furious rage to trembling satisfied semi-smile of a psycho), lightened for a moment, when his hand found the round orange on the table behind him. It was the only weapon he could count on now, and if only he made a few steps back, he could make the exact (always exact, yes) throw and easy brake a couple of her ribs. She was damn persevering, showed up for the third time this week, and this fact already drove his unstable psychic in the condition of the quiet insanity.
The orange was import, small, with thin crust, sour as hell, but very firm. It obediently rolled up into his open palm and took its place between his fingers, waiting for the perfect moment.
"Dolly", he repeated, being mad, quietly mad, rolling his eyes as a last warning.
She stepped inside.
"As I said before," she started with a nostalgic tone, like she was sharing some warm and pleasant memories with him, "Well, before we rolled down the stairs, scaring all of your neighbors..."
Bullseye grinned. His shoulder was still burning. And these American pigs dare to claim, that Irishmen can't adopt traditions. When she was there the day before yesterday, she managed to catch him unawares (don't tell anyone, if you value your life), so he roared and grabbed her across her body, remembering the last NFL match he was watching, and together they rolled down the stairs head over heals. It is weird, she just had to broke her spine in several places after meeting the steps... But she jumped on her feet and jumped from the window, when his worried neighbors started to gather in the corridor. One old lady nearly got the heart-attack, deciding, that it was death itself, in black cape, only without the sand-bar, coming for her soul.
"... Kingpin sent me".
Bullseye shuddered, raising his trembling arm, make weird gestures with it.
"Kingpin... doesn't deal... with women... Never deals with women... Even if he does... why should I... get into this... again?"
She made another step inside the room, making the throw impossible. How could she know about the orange behind his back? Well, why would he keep his hand behind his back? Hiding engagement ring there?
"Because," her voice uttered from the depths of the hood, that was hiding her face completely, "You have the common goal. To destroy. Him. Matt Murdock. Because he brought you down. Saw your weakness. Took your hands, your only weapon, from you for a long months. You missed. Not once, not even twice. And everybody knows it. Who is Bullseye? What the advantage to use him, if he can't kill the lawyer. The BLIND lawyer."
The last phrase she screamed with sonorous and surprisingly alive voice, so every neighbor heard. Bullseye found himself in the center of the room, almost in the horizontal position, trying to deviate from her words, hurting like bullets. His maximal vanity was crushed once again. Unexpectedly, he fell on his knees and started to cry like a baby, looking at his hands, now covered with leather gloves, that hid his shame -- the marks of the bullets -- from his own eyes. The orange slid to the carpet.
She took a look at the corridor and closed the door, not finding any witnesses there.
"Kingpin is very offended by Matt Murdock, he doesn't want to wait to his own release to revenge.
Bullseye stopped to cry as suddenly, as started. His eyes lighted with the feverish interest.
"Fisk sent you to help... ME?" he asked, sobbing furiously.
She walked past him, still sitting on the floor, to the window, untying her cape. He hair appeared to be black, impossible black, the darkness itself (and he was picturing her as a blonde bimbo, falling from the stairs in a deadly hug), she was dressed in something black, too, the fabric enveloped her body perfectly.
"One head is good", she muttered thoughtfully, stretching, "Two -- is already a mutant. Generally, yes. My name is Lady Skull, by the way".
In the next moment she turned to him, and Bullseye giggled. The hair on the sides was shaved, leaving three thin horizontal symmetrical stripes of short hair on each side. The woman was young, maybe younger, than he was, but it was impossible to say for sure since the upper half of her face was covered with a piece of human skull, edged and polished, like a Halloween mask. From the its eye-sockets her dark eyes were staring.
"I founded it, when they built the new subway line", she explained.
"Yeah, sure."
She didn't ask him to believe, though. Her hand was already circling the area just above the table, where he kept all his weapons. Stuff, that he already used as weapons. There was no investigator in the world, who could suspect such an innocent amount of things: pencils, paper clips, buttons, stapler stirrups (kinda small "Office stuff" shop), the well-known nuts, that can get stuck in the throat so comfortable, blocking all respiratory ways, if only be exact with angle of flight, small toys from Kinder Surprise, broken sewer cage, knitting spokes...
"Don't touch it, dolly," Bullseye hissed dangerously, when she was going to take one of his shining stars, each line of which was the sharpest edge. "I am an assassin".
"Me either" she noted, but took her hand away.
It made him laugh. She had a look, that could kill, yes, strong enough physically, but in this damn city, in this country of hamburgers, every moron, who smacked a granny in the backyard for ten dollars from her wallet, treated himself as a KILLER. The killing itself is a complicated process, but when you are in business long enough, it starts to get boring. You should work artistic and use your mind, and have fun, and only when you realize and take the philosophy of the process of taking the life away for money, you can call yourself THIS WAY. The process of taking the life away is even more specific, interesting and magical, that giving life. That was Bullseye's point of view, this is how he saw things in this world.
Without superfluous modesty, Irish bastard, nicknamed Bullseye and named with the name, that was lost in the whirlpool of history, considered himself as a last professional in business.
His hand reached to the belt, taking the silver star out.
Bullseye didn't live like any normal person lives. All his emotions and sensations degraded, because he never used or needed them, leaving the minimal storage for the psycho, which he became. He existed only in physical, not spiritual world, he saw physically, felt physically, talked physically. Only the thing, the physical body mattered. The thing, existing relatively to another thing, interacting with the third thing... In turn, the things were divided on targets and weapons to hit the targets.
He knew, that she was standing between the bed and table, approximately in three steps from the window, exactly in the center of the crossing point of the perpendiculars, crossed to the room line of symmetry from the axis of each thing. He didn't need to think about trajectory anymore -- in his head all happened automatically, like in computer, only faster, taking to the account all the errors, even velocity and direction of the wind.
One throw, and the bitch will lay on the floor with the blood streaming between her eyes. Murdock offended him by taking away the ability to move his arms, Fisk offended him by sending a woman to help him, the woman offended him by not falling on her knees in awe and fear. In what moment exactly did he make a mistake to deserve a disrespect like this?
He grinned and easily, like always, made a throw. In tiny share of second, when it all was going on, he managed to react physically, that the weapon didn't hit the target. With the metallic ringing it met something she threw in turn in the air and fell down to the carpet, useless.
Around her palm and wrist the silver chain was wrapped up, with the blade in shape of boomerang or half moon, that she was holding in her hand, like she never used it.
Recently, when Bullseye had to lay on the bottom and be careful with every move he made, his vanity looked like a pancake -- everybody trampled it down. But the blind layer and a dolly... Breathing hard he stared on his palms, not wanting to believe, that they had just betrayed him AGAIN. Behind the wall kids were watching "Godzilla" again, but Bullseye's savage roar muted the giant monster in rage.
He threw another star, but she pulled the chain between her arms, and the weapon met the metal again and again fell down without reaching the target. She had to jump on his bed to reflect another two "shots". Bullseye, like a predator on hunting, hid under the table, working at any possible variant to take another shot, since his last star was laying near the bed, out of reach. Suddenly, his gaze found the forgotten orange on the floor. He laughed hysterically, triumphed, aimed and threw it like a baseball player, and fruit hit her at the unprotected by mask forehead, leaving the smashed wound and getting torn into pieces by the mask's edge. The acid juice splashed, filling in her eyes, and she fell down with a scream, trying to bring her vision back without taking the mask off her face.
"Niccccce,"- Bullseye hissed, leaving his shelter and crawling to his victim.
Where did her arrogance go? What about her rational tone? Where is her haughty smile? It will be him, Bullseye, who will erase it from her face forever. There are people who just need to be taught something. Taught to respect the real professionals. He kicked her hard on the ribs with the heavy boot, and she felt to her side.
"It wasn't smart... Wasn't smart to fight me, dolly. Dolly", he repeated almost tenderly, grabbing her by the hair and looking at her face.
He cut the leather strap, which was holding the skull mask on her head, using his ring in a shape of big animal's claw.
"G-r-e-a-t", he rapped up, when the mask fell to the floor, baring her face.
Her face probably was beautiful once, before she get involved with the unequal fight with somebody, who had a knife or just something sharp as a weapon. Her left eye lost its shape, it was crossed with long ugly scar, she also got a couple of horrible traces on her nose bridge. There is no cosmetics or make-up, that can hide scars like this, surrounded by blue and dark red veins, there is no plastic surgeon, who will be able to clear the skin from them. No, darling, this is forever. Bullseye liked such hopelessness. He traced one of the scars with his thumb, bending down to take a better look. Her shut eyelids continued to tremble convulsively from the damn juice, that was burning her eyes. She definitely didn't expect a thing like this. Damn, he didn't either.
Bullseye distracted for a moment to choose the weapon to finish her, when he heard quiet tinkling and then felt the cold loop on his neck.
Lady Skull pulled the chain to her, making him rattle and coil hard, like a dog, that was wearing he collar for the first time. To tell the truth, he was a dog in a collar for the first time in his life.
"You killed senator Keneth's daughter," - she roared, seeing only the white spot in the place, where his head was, "You killed Elektra, although she was tough, but life isn't a birthday cake. You never met a woman like me".
She yanked the chain one more time, leaving the blood print on his neck, and then let it go, falling to the carpet. The acid continued to corrode her eyes, and he hit her right in the old injury, so she haven't more breath left to talk about respect. Bullseye fell on his side, coughing and groaning.
"I've already got it".
"So partners?"
The thought of working with a woman warped his face more, than her from orange juice. But, how did she say? One head -- good, two -- ...
"Partners".
After a few moments of loud breathing they fell asleep on the floor in the middle of damaged room.
THE END?
She was wearing the costume of death, however, losing her sand-bar somewhere. All her body was covered with the black cape, but he quickly recognized the convex shapes, that were visible through the fabric. The bend of her arm, the roundness of the left breast and just under it -- oh, pleasure -- her warm, trembling heart, which is so easy to pierce. Yes, it was trembling, but this mistake could be easy fixed.
His face, always reminding of the screen, on which slides are usually shown, was changing its expression with the speed of the flashed staffs (the whole array of human and not really human emotions could be shown there within a second -- from the mindless, furious rage to trembling satisfied semi-smile of a psycho), lightened for a moment, when his hand found the round orange on the table behind him. It was the only weapon he could count on now, and if only he made a few steps back, he could make the exact (always exact, yes) throw and easy brake a couple of her ribs. She was damn persevering, showed up for the third time this week, and this fact already drove his unstable psychic in the condition of the quiet insanity.
The orange was import, small, with thin crust, sour as hell, but very firm. It obediently rolled up into his open palm and took its place between his fingers, waiting for the perfect moment.
"Dolly", he repeated, being mad, quietly mad, rolling his eyes as a last warning.
She stepped inside.
"As I said before," she started with a nostalgic tone, like she was sharing some warm and pleasant memories with him, "Well, before we rolled down the stairs, scaring all of your neighbors..."
Bullseye grinned. His shoulder was still burning. And these American pigs dare to claim, that Irishmen can't adopt traditions. When she was there the day before yesterday, she managed to catch him unawares (don't tell anyone, if you value your life), so he roared and grabbed her across her body, remembering the last NFL match he was watching, and together they rolled down the stairs head over heals. It is weird, she just had to broke her spine in several places after meeting the steps... But she jumped on her feet and jumped from the window, when his worried neighbors started to gather in the corridor. One old lady nearly got the heart-attack, deciding, that it was death itself, in black cape, only without the sand-bar, coming for her soul.
"... Kingpin sent me".
Bullseye shuddered, raising his trembling arm, make weird gestures with it.
"Kingpin... doesn't deal... with women... Never deals with women... Even if he does... why should I... get into this... again?"
She made another step inside the room, making the throw impossible. How could she know about the orange behind his back? Well, why would he keep his hand behind his back? Hiding engagement ring there?
"Because," her voice uttered from the depths of the hood, that was hiding her face completely, "You have the common goal. To destroy. Him. Matt Murdock. Because he brought you down. Saw your weakness. Took your hands, your only weapon, from you for a long months. You missed. Not once, not even twice. And everybody knows it. Who is Bullseye? What the advantage to use him, if he can't kill the lawyer. The BLIND lawyer."
The last phrase she screamed with sonorous and surprisingly alive voice, so every neighbor heard. Bullseye found himself in the center of the room, almost in the horizontal position, trying to deviate from her words, hurting like bullets. His maximal vanity was crushed once again. Unexpectedly, he fell on his knees and started to cry like a baby, looking at his hands, now covered with leather gloves, that hid his shame -- the marks of the bullets -- from his own eyes. The orange slid to the carpet.
She took a look at the corridor and closed the door, not finding any witnesses there.
"Kingpin is very offended by Matt Murdock, he doesn't want to wait to his own release to revenge.
Bullseye stopped to cry as suddenly, as started. His eyes lighted with the feverish interest.
"Fisk sent you to help... ME?" he asked, sobbing furiously.
She walked past him, still sitting on the floor, to the window, untying her cape. He hair appeared to be black, impossible black, the darkness itself (and he was picturing her as a blonde bimbo, falling from the stairs in a deadly hug), she was dressed in something black, too, the fabric enveloped her body perfectly.
"One head is good", she muttered thoughtfully, stretching, "Two -- is already a mutant. Generally, yes. My name is Lady Skull, by the way".
In the next moment she turned to him, and Bullseye giggled. The hair on the sides was shaved, leaving three thin horizontal symmetrical stripes of short hair on each side. The woman was young, maybe younger, than he was, but it was impossible to say for sure since the upper half of her face was covered with a piece of human skull, edged and polished, like a Halloween mask. From the its eye-sockets her dark eyes were staring.
"I founded it, when they built the new subway line", she explained.
"Yeah, sure."
She didn't ask him to believe, though. Her hand was already circling the area just above the table, where he kept all his weapons. Stuff, that he already used as weapons. There was no investigator in the world, who could suspect such an innocent amount of things: pencils, paper clips, buttons, stapler stirrups (kinda small "Office stuff" shop), the well-known nuts, that can get stuck in the throat so comfortable, blocking all respiratory ways, if only be exact with angle of flight, small toys from Kinder Surprise, broken sewer cage, knitting spokes...
"Don't touch it, dolly," Bullseye hissed dangerously, when she was going to take one of his shining stars, each line of which was the sharpest edge. "I am an assassin".
"Me either" she noted, but took her hand away.
It made him laugh. She had a look, that could kill, yes, strong enough physically, but in this damn city, in this country of hamburgers, every moron, who smacked a granny in the backyard for ten dollars from her wallet, treated himself as a KILLER. The killing itself is a complicated process, but when you are in business long enough, it starts to get boring. You should work artistic and use your mind, and have fun, and only when you realize and take the philosophy of the process of taking the life away for money, you can call yourself THIS WAY. The process of taking the life away is even more specific, interesting and magical, that giving life. That was Bullseye's point of view, this is how he saw things in this world.
Without superfluous modesty, Irish bastard, nicknamed Bullseye and named with the name, that was lost in the whirlpool of history, considered himself as a last professional in business.
His hand reached to the belt, taking the silver star out.
Bullseye didn't live like any normal person lives. All his emotions and sensations degraded, because he never used or needed them, leaving the minimal storage for the psycho, which he became. He existed only in physical, not spiritual world, he saw physically, felt physically, talked physically. Only the thing, the physical body mattered. The thing, existing relatively to another thing, interacting with the third thing... In turn, the things were divided on targets and weapons to hit the targets.
He knew, that she was standing between the bed and table, approximately in three steps from the window, exactly in the center of the crossing point of the perpendiculars, crossed to the room line of symmetry from the axis of each thing. He didn't need to think about trajectory anymore -- in his head all happened automatically, like in computer, only faster, taking to the account all the errors, even velocity and direction of the wind.
One throw, and the bitch will lay on the floor with the blood streaming between her eyes. Murdock offended him by taking away the ability to move his arms, Fisk offended him by sending a woman to help him, the woman offended him by not falling on her knees in awe and fear. In what moment exactly did he make a mistake to deserve a disrespect like this?
He grinned and easily, like always, made a throw. In tiny share of second, when it all was going on, he managed to react physically, that the weapon didn't hit the target. With the metallic ringing it met something she threw in turn in the air and fell down to the carpet, useless.
Around her palm and wrist the silver chain was wrapped up, with the blade in shape of boomerang or half moon, that she was holding in her hand, like she never used it.
Recently, when Bullseye had to lay on the bottom and be careful with every move he made, his vanity looked like a pancake -- everybody trampled it down. But the blind layer and a dolly... Breathing hard he stared on his palms, not wanting to believe, that they had just betrayed him AGAIN. Behind the wall kids were watching "Godzilla" again, but Bullseye's savage roar muted the giant monster in rage.
He threw another star, but she pulled the chain between her arms, and the weapon met the metal again and again fell down without reaching the target. She had to jump on his bed to reflect another two "shots". Bullseye, like a predator on hunting, hid under the table, working at any possible variant to take another shot, since his last star was laying near the bed, out of reach. Suddenly, his gaze found the forgotten orange on the floor. He laughed hysterically, triumphed, aimed and threw it like a baseball player, and fruit hit her at the unprotected by mask forehead, leaving the smashed wound and getting torn into pieces by the mask's edge. The acid juice splashed, filling in her eyes, and she fell down with a scream, trying to bring her vision back without taking the mask off her face.
"Niccccce,"- Bullseye hissed, leaving his shelter and crawling to his victim.
Where did her arrogance go? What about her rational tone? Where is her haughty smile? It will be him, Bullseye, who will erase it from her face forever. There are people who just need to be taught something. Taught to respect the real professionals. He kicked her hard on the ribs with the heavy boot, and she felt to her side.
"It wasn't smart... Wasn't smart to fight me, dolly. Dolly", he repeated almost tenderly, grabbing her by the hair and looking at her face.
He cut the leather strap, which was holding the skull mask on her head, using his ring in a shape of big animal's claw.
"G-r-e-a-t", he rapped up, when the mask fell to the floor, baring her face.
Her face probably was beautiful once, before she get involved with the unequal fight with somebody, who had a knife or just something sharp as a weapon. Her left eye lost its shape, it was crossed with long ugly scar, she also got a couple of horrible traces on her nose bridge. There is no cosmetics or make-up, that can hide scars like this, surrounded by blue and dark red veins, there is no plastic surgeon, who will be able to clear the skin from them. No, darling, this is forever. Bullseye liked such hopelessness. He traced one of the scars with his thumb, bending down to take a better look. Her shut eyelids continued to tremble convulsively from the damn juice, that was burning her eyes. She definitely didn't expect a thing like this. Damn, he didn't either.
Bullseye distracted for a moment to choose the weapon to finish her, when he heard quiet tinkling and then felt the cold loop on his neck.
Lady Skull pulled the chain to her, making him rattle and coil hard, like a dog, that was wearing he collar for the first time. To tell the truth, he was a dog in a collar for the first time in his life.
"You killed senator Keneth's daughter," - she roared, seeing only the white spot in the place, where his head was, "You killed Elektra, although she was tough, but life isn't a birthday cake. You never met a woman like me".
She yanked the chain one more time, leaving the blood print on his neck, and then let it go, falling to the carpet. The acid continued to corrode her eyes, and he hit her right in the old injury, so she haven't more breath left to talk about respect. Bullseye fell on his side, coughing and groaning.
"I've already got it".
"So partners?"
The thought of working with a woman warped his face more, than her from orange juice. But, how did she say? One head -- good, two -- ...
"Partners".
After a few moments of loud breathing they fell asleep on the floor in the middle of damaged room.
THE END?