Disclaimer: Did you or did you not read chapter one? Pfft.
Chapter Two: Blues and Hard Rock
This evil world
Is punishing you
For the things that you say
You carry your weight
But I, I don't know
It's about you all the time
It's easy to fall
Well you're going up
And you're pulling me down
It would get you down
But you're, you're constantly
Fighting anyhow
You're sold so quickly
You drop to your knees
To be part of the scene
You know what I mean
And I'm, I'm trying
To keep you grounded
Where are you
Where are you now
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
What've you done
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
Where are you now
One day you'll be found
Crawling around
With a knife in your back
Someone keeps track of you
You were only a human
But now you're square
Your life's so empty
You throw a fit
If you don't get your way
You're going insane
And I, I'm right here
To watch it go down
Where are you
Where are you now
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
What've you done
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
Where are you now
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
What've you done
You're slowly slipping away
Away…
Don't act so surprised
You've paid for your sins
And you've tested your faith
And now it's too late
Objection overruled
Where are you
Where are you now
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
What've you done
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
Where are you now
You're slowly slipping away
Where are you
What've you done…
You're slowly slipping away!!
You're slowly slipping away
You're slowly slipping away
You're slowly slipping away…[1]
Faye woke up in a bad mood. She felt like shit warmed over, or as if it were that time of the month and she had just discovered she was fresh out of Midol. Thankfully, she was only the former, though that gratitude to the whimsical powers-that-be in no way bettered her foul mood.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she willed herself not to wake up, not to open her eyes to greet that horrid morning light of another dreary, lonely, empty day. Sighing gruffly, her hand shot out in blind search, heading directly to where the addiction driving her exhausted body landed every morning. However, her lethargy that morning was affecting her muscular reflexes, and not even the a.m. autopilot was working properly.
"Holy fucking shit!"
The bounty head-turned-hunter shot up in bed, swearing loudly as the loud and painful crack of her knuckles against the hard edge of the nightstand brought her to almost full awareness. Cradling the injured hand to her chest, she examined the red but unbroken flesh with bleary, haggard green eyes, sighing yet again and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She began to get up, paused, reached gingerly, almost hesitantly towards the bedside table, glaring as if it might bite and snatched her half-empty carton of Cowboys.
As she pulled in a much-needed drag of nicotine-laced smoke, Faye frowned with one corner of her mouth, the glowing cig hanging from the other. It was a cheap brand, hardly giving her the necessary buzz her sleep-deprived body needed to drag itself from bed. Half-hooded emeralds gazed dully at the ceiling, musing over that one pack of cigarettes. That brand had seemed so much sweeter, so much heavier than any other she had ever smoked, and she had savored every last drag.
It had been his last reserve, his secret hold stashed under the worn, threadbare cushions of that hideous mustard-colored couch, where he had thought no one knew of its existence. Apparently, he had never counted to see if any of his precious smokes had gone missing. After he died, after she left for the last time, they had become hers, stashed always on her person in her pockets. That same red sweater still hung on its lone hanger in the closet, faintly redolent of that sweet, beautiful scent, a smell she could get lost in.
Well, had gotten lost in. Before last night, Spike had been delightfully low in her mind, thoughts of that sadistic green-haired bastard popping unwelcomely up only on occasion. But last night… last night she was slammed with every thought she'd ever had of him, ones she wished she'd never imagined and ones she relished or hated. She was drowned in memories of the man's smile, the sound of his voice, how it was so aggravatingly musical when it taunted her, his beautiful, tragic discordant eyes, the rare tortures she'd suffered at his brief touch.
Faye growled and shook her head so hard, it seemed her thin neck might snap. "Aaagghh, damnit, stop this, Valentine! Geez, it's not like you were in love with lunkhead."
Saying the words out loud helped a little. No, she, Faye Valentine, had never been in love with Spike Speigel. Ha! The very idea. No, she'd simply suffered some ridiculous crush, most likely reminiscent of her recently reacquired schoolgirl days.
Of course, that doesn't account for the times when I didn't have a past, but we're not going there… Thin ice, Valentine, thin ice.
Faye snorted derisively at her inner voice, eyes narrowing on the door. No, last night had been some strange coincidence, too weirdly real to be a dream, too reekingly akin to days when she lived under constant threat and watch of creditors. No. No, last night was a complete happenstance, that heart-panging pungent fragrance something only similar, the rest of the delusion induced by alcohol. She simply must have drunk more than she had thought. Although, she didn't have a hangover. But hell, that was just her weird constitution for ya. She could get drunk as piss and wake up sunny and fine the next morning.
Dammit, no more moping in bed, Faye! Get your ass dressed and out there!
And so she did. Donning an ensemble similar to the one of last night- a red cotton skirt, the hem of which reached well up above her knees while completely covering her ass, and a backless yellow silk shirt, baring the muscled, flat plane of her stomach and shaping to the full swell of her breasts, sleek strap circling around to her nape drawing a healthy dose of attention to her throat. Sleek and fitting snugly to her calves, the Stiletto-heeled boots' black material shone like brand new, telling nothing of the bounties she'd reeled in wearing them, of the piercing kicks she'd delivered with the dangerous points. She smiled down at her feet, oddly proud of how well she took care of her things. She slipped into a black, slightly oversized suit jacket that she vaguely recalled snagging from a particularly snappily dressed target.
She pulled different faces in front of her mirror, checking her makeup and pressing her lips together to blend the sorrel gloss on her mouth. Smiling cattily at her reflection, Faye winked at her green-eyed doppelganger, checked her guns, the slim, sharp blade secured in her boot, and left.
"Time to business."
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"And you're absolutely sure you can't help me?" Faye's voice was innocent and demure with a temptress's undertone, arms leaning her further over the cracked and dirtied counter, breasts pushing forward so that the man's eyes were unavoidably drawn to them. And such attractive eyes, she thought.
The man was a blackmarket roadee, sporting a thin goatee on his pointed chin, shifty, glittering black little eyes that were far too close together set over a long, beaky nose that presided over most of his emaciated face. His cheekbones stuck out in sharp angles, giving him the look of a flesh-clothed skeleton. Bushy eyebrows and large, round ears made him look like the rat he personified. How appropriate that his oh-so clever streetname was Rizzo. Oh yes. She had seen the Muppets as a child. Pigs and frogs? The horror.
Rizzo shoved with bony fingers at his matted tangles of greasy hair, gnarled dirty fingernails snagging in the ugly nest of drab brown strands. Too-long feet shifted the featherweight of his gaunt frame constantly from one to the other as he wiped his sweaty palms down the stained and grungy coveralls he appeared to live in. "I don't think so, Miss. What y-you're asking for is-"
"Should be no problem for someone like you, right?" she smoothly interjected, a confident smile reinforcing her faux encouragements. Dammit, she really needed this information, and she would eat shit and die before she let this chance slip out of her scarlet-tipped claws. This guy was supposed to be a good hacker- and exactly the type she had always envisioned- and she needed his skills to get what she wanted.
Heaven and Hell forbid she didn't get what she wanted.
"U-um, I dunno, Ma'am. I-it's k-kinda tough to hack that system- and you're not offering to p-pay that much- and… m-my c-current employers wouldn't l-like it if I helped an outsider…"
His nerve-twitching stutter and paranoid, mousy behavior set her teeth on edge, lending her alluring smile a hard edge and stabbing an I miss Ed pang through her gut. At least the nutty little girl wouldn't be so hard to wrangle into the job, nor would she be such an annoying accomplice. Hell, truth to tell, she'd liked the kid. Edward was the only member of the old crew that had showed some sort of affection to the adrift woman, unlike those hard-hearted, unappreciative-
"M-ma'am?"
Faye's emerald hues widened in surprise and a tad of anger when she realized she'd been spacing on the job. Dammit! However, she recovered quickly. Drawing upon her poor-helpless-lil-'ol-me reserves, she produced a wan smile, eyes softening and face saddening. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that… well, this information is so important, and…" She sighed dramatically, kohl lashes lowering so that she could peer up at her quarry in discretion.
Irises limning chartreuse beneath the brightly spazzing halogen overhead, Faye watched the flickering emotions pass dubiously over the two-bit hacker's transparent visage. He was wary and apprehensive, but his candle-wax resolve was melting fast under the pressure of her cheesy routine. "W-well…" he began, but shut up with a squeak and electric shock-resembling jolt as the door behind him and to his right slammed open, tarnished brass knob cracking against the dingy plywood walls.
A massive man in a monkey suit stood there, military-cut brown hair, large, muscular features and beady dark eyes making him look like a walk-off from Planet of the Apes. He had an earpiece listener wired from his lapel to his left ear, and had most likely been listening to the entire conversation since Faye set foot within Rizzo's lair. A disapproving scowl marred his already less-than-attractive features as he glared down at the violet-haired Romani, though the rat-boy was the one cowering under the suit's imposing shadow.
Faye pouted at the man, finely arched brows stitching into an unhappy line over the bridge of her nose. "Well, let me guess, you're hear to kick me out?"
The ape's upper lip curled at one corner; geez, was he incapable of human speech? How much more stereotypical could this man get? He probably had a name like Butch or Rosco. He uttered a short, intellectually unbecoming sentence, his voice a deep bass that rumbled like so much thunder. "Got it right on the first one, Missy."
Faye resisted a glare. Ha! He thought he could talk down to her? He had a gun buried inside his jacket, as a cursory glance at the obvious bulge revealed, and by another glance towards his meaty, clumsy-looking hands, he knew no more about it than which end the bullet came out and how to make it fire. She could plug a sweet little lead ball into his forehead before he had the time to so much as reach for his piece. She smiled demurely, backing up from the counter and straightening her spine, one hip cocking to draw attention. "I get the message, big boy. Whatever, it wasn't worth my time anyways. Ciao." With a casual wave of one immaculately manicured hand and a final look at the cowed hacker, she made her exit into the alley beyond, speculatively observing the litter of empty cardboard boxes and rotting garbage.
She emerged from the narrow passage into a wider street, the artificial light, meant to resemble the sun's, streaming down in broken spills between incongruent articles of clothing hung out to dry on wire lines that created a cloth and shadow canopy, various trains of apparel marching along intersecting routes. The buildings surrounding the broad venue were all of uniform dirtied red brick and identical, single pane grimy windows that faced a view offering nothing but a twin set on the opposite walls. Ancient-style fire escapes climbed a jagged path up the cracked bricks, rust decorating the black metal rungs and spinning tales of age and disuse.
The buckled pavement beneath her heels as she walked was bleak and blistered, half-masked by the hodgepodge fodder thrown carelessly onto the obsolete track. Lying in silent camaraderie with the refuse were discarded, decaying memories and tokens of the past no longer necessary for remembrance. It was a truly depressing setting, one that reminded her just how unfriendly the neighborhood was. Not that, on Avalon, there was any sort of "nice" part of town. It was all one big happy Hell, only differing by way of greater and lesser degrees.
Sighing in a most decidedly melancholy manner, Faye treaded the precarious byway, despondently pondering her next move. Last night must have been a bad omen, this morning's lovely wake-up call another. She'd been having a shitty day since she began her methodic procedures much earlier, running into dead end after dead end. No one could or would help, wanted more money than she could afford, or happened to be conveniently unavailable for what she asked of them. It was only edging off of afternoon and into evening, but already hopeless surrender assaulted the young yet old woman's frazzled nerves. Tension was building in every muscle, a pressure in her head beating against her skull as if the entire cast of Riverdance was holding nonstop practice. It had slowly progressed into a painful headache as the hours of the day flew by with each futile search, setting a steady, rhythmic drum beat in the confines of her head.
She was on a downward spiral and things, from here, could only get worse. Knock on wood.
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An hour and a half later found Faye seated languidly on the cracked vinyl seat of a simple booth that lay ensconced in the corner of a deli she had happened upon. Fingers holding her prize in a dainty grip, she lifted it to her mouth. As the time and scenery had passed, Faye's depression had steeped and deepened, sinking her to low depths that would have her screaming in a fit of rage or crying miserably in the shower, where the stinging fall of water drowned at the noises of her hitching breaths and the hot, pelting droplets mingled and washed away her tears.
However, before deciding upon one of the two options, a third presented itself in the form of Mario's Delicatessen, and she had shelled out a few of her meager woolongs to indulge in the sweetest ambrosia, known for its euphoric and aphrodisiac effects: chocolate. More precisely, a double-Dutch-fudge homemade cupcake twice the size of her fist. She had ordered it alongside a tall glass of cold skim milk, which now stood nearly drained of its ivory liquid contents, the cupcake just as diminished.
Savoring every last bittersweet, heavenly tang, Faye popped the last morsel into her mouth, licking the a smear of rich icing from her lower lip in an innocently provocative manner. Putting each stained fingertip to her lips, she sucked off the last crumb, the last dollop of fudge from each one, blissfully unaware of the wide-eyed, hard-lust stares that were fixed on her from various points in the room; in the high of her sweet drug, she had surrounded herself in an endorphin-induced bubble, utterly ignoring the world outside her booth. The salacious gazes of the male staff and customers were completely lost on the exotic, violet-tressed vixen, whose attention span was focused on the all-consuming voluptuous flavor on her scarlet lips.
A satisfied, deep sigh passed through her mouth, the corners curving upwards in a childishly mischievous grin. "Mmm… much better." Downing the last drops of milk from the still-cool glass, Faye stood from her seat, one corner of her lips turning down in detestation when the hideous vinyl stuck to the backs of her thighs.
Standing in a fluid, catty movement, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt and skirt, hips swaying in a pronounced, happy swagger from her refreshing excursion as she sauntered her way towards the door.
Pushing the door halfway open, her bubble popped at the tinkling of the bell over the door, and she finally noticed the sweaty-palmed, panting occupants of the deli, cast a glare and scowl over her shoulder, and exited, the smile sliding back into place- for however long the mercurial hand of Fate allowed it to remain.
Stilettos clicking a quiet beat on the pavement, Faye meandered along the sidewalk of Valhalla Avenue, a wonderful, classy retreat secreted away in the mazes of Avalon slummery that she had been surprised to locate on her misguided tour out of Uglytown. As she passed under the brightly-lit, chummy orange streetlights and watched one after another quaint, homey little shops fall behind her steady, leisurely pace, she was nostalgically reminiscent of what the city back when she had been young was like, on Earth, when everything was smiles and sunshine. It was sweetly saddening, but not dramatically depressing as the ghetto she had beat a retreat from. It seemed one of those places where one might pretend that sadness and pain and ugly things didn't exist, that nobody ever got hurt, that blood didn't stain anyone's hands and no one had to steal or fight to survive.
It was a beautiful, exquisitely spun illusion, a hallucination that didn't entirely succeed in masking the hideous true face that lay just around the corner.
And how apt that, in this pretty place of a warm, false sense of security, the hideous face would appear in the guise of a thug and his friends who, quite literally, lay in wait just around the next corner.
Faye rounded the corner, eyes downcast and brow furrowed as she rummaged in her pocket for her lighter, the packet of Cowboys in her other hand. As she had turned off Valhalla street, the comforting glow of the streetlights had all but disappeared, predictably, yet she still stopped short as she felt the shadow as it fell over her, from the root of each heliotrope strand of hair to the sharp toes of her boots. Lifting her wine-colored head, pushing a few stray locks behind one ear in an innocent gesture, she smiled impishly, a quixotic gleam in her beryl hues.
Ah… some action. As sweetly satisfying as the chocolate treat had been, nothing could sate the bloodlusty beast chained deep within like an old fashioned, good old spot of violence.
"Hello, boys," she greeted, voice curiously smirking and unreadable. She allowed her eyes to travel slowly over each of them, assessing, as they were so obviously busy doing to her. However, she quite seriously doubted they were rating her for the same reason she examined them.
There were four of them, the one in front most evidently the ringleader, his stubbly lower face broken in a crooked, toothy grin like a yellow cob of corn. His hair was died an extravagant cerulean, shaved to a thin coat of fuzz on the left half of his skull and long and well-groomed on the right, falling to mid-ear, where a gaudy gold stud glinted. He had narrow blue eyes that glittered like a pair of marbles, a little too far apart from either side of his wide, hooked nose. Once upon a time, he might have been roguishly handsome, or a grungily alluring rock-star type, but in this day and age, that was a much harder look to pull off and his pockmarked skin and many-times broken nose ruined whatever slim chance he might have once held. He had a fairly impressive build, arms sporting massive biceps bared by the tight, sleeveless cobalt cut-off tee he wore, which also revealed an up-and-coming six-pack. His faded blue jeans were worn, with frayed hems and holes in the knees.
The man to his left had the same physical status, though a nicer appearance. He had a straight nose and clean-shaven, unblemished face, round, well-set eyes that exhibited a vibrant, acidic green that could only come from expensive surgery or contacts. A thin, straight mouth accented the stone-cold stoicism his face and unusual eyes cleanly portrayed. His head was shaven bald, all save a curly, verdant forelock that bounced against his high forehead as he inclined his head from one side to the other, studying his prey acutely. His chest was bare except for the vest that stretched over his muscular pectorals, a green so deep it shone almost black. His pants were corduroy material of the same shade as his vest.
The third was much less memorable, golden-eyed with a shaggy blonde head, dressed in a saffron muscle shirt and silk pants. He was the thinnest of the group, full mouth alternating between leering and scowling every few seconds.
The fourth had a haircut like some sort of priest or monk, straight bangs over bushy dark brows and cut the same at his shoulders. His skin was flawless and milky-white as her own ivory complexion, with androgynously beautiful features. He wore a silk-button up with the sleeves torn off and a sash rather than a belt held up his baggy cargoes. His monochrome of choice was purple, amethyst eyes slitted in a very creepy fashion locked to hers, his insanely beguiling, ever-present grin edging her nerves.
Okay, the pretty boy in purple was going down first. That silently mocking smile was starting to afflict her good humor.
After the mutual evaluation had been completed, the leader smiled lecherously at her and took a step forward, one hand extended towards her in a parody of gentlemanly fashion. "Hullo, Pretty Miss. You out for a bit of fun?"
Faye's answering grin was maliciously gleeful, teeth momentarily catching her lower lip in a seductive implication. "Actually, yes I am. And I think you can help me." They all smiled, though the Adonis in green only managed a half-quirked smirk. Her voice was a low purr as she continued, almost closing the distance between Little Boy Blue and herself with a swaying hip and forthplaced boot. "Actually, I do have one question…"
"Yeah?" Blue's gravelly, imitation British voice was husky already, drawing up a girlish giggle that she suppressed willfully in her throat. This would be all too easy. After all, none of them were even packing heat, and she could feel the reassuring hard edge of her Glock's barrel against her upper ribcage, concealed snugly inside the suit jacket's inner pocket. Not that she would be needing her gun, but it was always a comforting presence.
Pulling back suddenly, flicking Blue's chin with a long fingernail as she moved away. Faye snorted derisively and gestured to the quartet, eyes and voice sarcastic. "Who the hell are you supposed to be, the Rainbow Club?"
Smiles faded, fists were raised, growls issued, switchblades pulled. Apparently, this particular group of ruffians was particularly sensitive of their particular color theme. Faye grinned and felt like clapping. "Oh, did I insult you? Whoops, guess you'll hafta just kick my ass now, huh?" Now she really did laugh, raising her own hands into loose fists, executing a dance of fancy footwork she had picked up from watching Spike on bounty hunts. "Come on, four to one seems fair enough. Can't you big strong boys take care of one little girl?"
"Like hell we can't!" Roared Yellow Boy, rushing at her with his six-inch blade extended.
And so the shuffle began.
Easily sidestepping, Yellow's senseless lunge, she clotheslined him, grinning wildly as her arm impacted his gut. He slumped to the ground breathlessly as she twirled on one thin heel, intercepting the punch Blue had aimed for her head and knocking his fist aside, bringing her own into an uppercut. His teeth cracked together and bit into his tongue, warm, sticky blood mingling with saliva in streams down his chin. As his head was still recoiling, she executed a swift sidekick to his chest, Stiletto heel stabbing his sternum, the sound of fracturing bone and his gasping cry of pain music in her ears. Blue was sent flying backwards, his body striking a brick building, the back of his skull cracking loudly against the wall, crumpling to the ground and folding in on himself, unconscious.
…Take another shot boy
Now I'm open
Nobody knows a liar
You can never break me
I'm already broken
Nobody knows a liar
Like I do
So absorbed in her scuffle with Blue, she had momentarily forgotten Yellow, who had by then found his second wind and sprang to his feet behind her. Faye frowned and whirled, fists raised, but too late. Yellow caught her before she could land a blow, one bony appendage snaking around her waist and the other locking around her shoulders and collarbone, pulling her snug against his emaciated, short frame.
His lack of weight and height worked to her advantage and she threw her weight forward, bending at the waist, simultaneously grabbing hold of the offending arms and jerking them from her body, his fingernails digging long scratches across her bared flesh, and catching the back of her jacket collar. A small, outraged cry escaped her mouth as she threw him forward, releasing his arms as she realized he had a grip on her jacket. The fabric wrenched at her shoulders, nearly pulling them out of socket before she held her arms out to slip from the sleeves.
Yellow struck the rough cement of the sidewalk soundly and slid, his flesh scraping, tearing and bleeding as it met resistance on the ground; her jacket was still gripped in his hand, her Glock still in the inside breast pocket. "Dammit!" she screeched. She liked that jacket. And most importantly, he had her gun!
Sugar, my love, they have done you wrong
Held ou down and kept you from creating
Everything you do takes too long
So keep in my heart something precious
Never learn to be malicious
Yellow began to staggeringly raise himself to his hands and knees, the entire left side of his face shredded to bloody ribbons. At that sight, Faye grinned, but was no less incensed. She stalked quickly over to him, long legs easily covering the distance. His head snapped around as his eyes widened in anger and a little fear at her. She smiled sweetly down at him, grabbed a fistful of greasy blonde hair at the back of his head and jerked him roughly to a kneeling position, brought her leg back and swung the knife-edge of her foot into his ribs, satisfied when a spat of blood expulsed from his mouth, staining his teeth pink and dribbling down his chin. Giving a derisive, inarticulate sound, she dropped him unceremoniously to the sidewalk again, and this time he did not get back up.
She picked up her suit jacket, frowned at its state, and slipped it on. It would need a good wash later, but it was still serviceable. Turning towards the remaining two chromatic playboys, her ruby smile faltered at what she was met with.
Take another shot boy
Now I'm open
Nobody knows a liar
You can never break me
I'm already broken
Nobody knows a liar
Like I do…[2]
Green and Purple stood side by side, Purple still with that cheeky grin and Green with a frigid smirk on daunting lips. They reminded her of something, something she shivered to think about, something that sent a cold dagger of fear stabbing through her chest. She didn't know anything about this little gang, hadn't cared, only wanted a fun brawl. Blue and Yellow had been overconfident amateurs, all too easy to handle. However, even from the initial observation, she had on some primal level acknowledged that the scene did not mesh, that something didn't quite fit. Now she knew why.
Green and Purple were by no means amateurs. Their stances were professional and their demeanors cool and impenetrable. They held a nebulous confidence that the other two members of the ragtag color guard had lacked, and the way the two fit like yin and yang, both with a deadly air and all-concealing mask, was more than vaguely reminiscent of a pair she had otherwise dealt with, but not on these circumstances. No, then, they had been fighting each other. And now both of them were dead at the other's hands.
A calculating numbness swept over Faye, pushing aside her growing unease and tingling prick of fear; the beast was unleashed. But, even so, did she really stand a chance against a pair that reminded her so much of them?
Only way to know is to find out, replied a cold, detached reasoning in the back confines of her mind. Switching her stance, she stood straight, one foot placed slightly behind her, the majority of her weight on it. The other foot was in front of her, firmly placed, but in a flexible position, ready to change places or follow command at any second. It was defensive in nature, but it also braced her weight for recoil in the event that she should draw and fire the Glock. Also, it gave her the option of springing forward for a surprise offensive, her forward left foot prepared to balance the weight exchange on the precarious heels of her boots.
Purple and Green were in similar stances, theirs somewhat reversed, Green's offensive and defensive at once, Purple positioning his body in a purely attack posture.
Faye licked her lips in grim anticipation, the situation violently transforming from an enjoyable altercation into an intimidating confrontation within moments. Perspiration beaded on her brow as she stood, edgily awaiting one of her opponent's assaults.
Purple's eyes opened wide in a frightening, ghoulish expression just before he sprang towards her on a burst of speed and strength. He was in her personal space before she knew it, feinting left, right, right, left again, then aiming a kick straight for her face. Emerald eyes showed white all around as she perceived the impending strike and she moved on cunning, instinct and stamina, dropping to the cement and bracing her weight on the newly scraped heels of her hands, lashing out with a long, palely toned leg, right calf connecting with Purple's corresponding ankle in a powerful arc, sweeping the support from under him and springing up and back as he came crashing towards the cement.
Before the violet man's body even impacted, his partner was rushing forward to fill in, a knuckled, solid fist lashing towards her face as she was only just coming out of her crouch. She twisted so that the hit missed its original target, her nose, but not enough. A weak cry tore from her lips in pain as Green's clenched hand connected viciously with her left shoulder, the stern bones of his knuckles and fingers paralleling the unforgiving density of a marble brick. The small cry became a passionately agonized shout as she felt the tearing, horribly wrenching popping sensation as her arms was forced brutally from its socket.
A moment later, she was knocked soundly to the ground as Green used her own tricks against her, swinging out a powerful calf to snatch her legs from beneath her. When her eyes slit open a half-second later, she found the two assailants standing above her, Green's face dispassionately expressionless and Purple's visage marked by a satisfied, demeaning smirk.
Faye's jaw set firmly, lower lip jutting in stubborn determination as she clutched her limp left arm and staggered backwards and to her feet. The damned idiots were toying with her the whole time. Blue and Yellow had been the bait, the deliberately ineffectual booby traps intended to do no more than wear her down to a nice, slow and easy pace so that they could enjoy every minute of her beating. She spoke to them the first time, deciding she could at least lessen their egotistical fun by letting them in on the fact that she'd figured them out, if a bit belatedly. "You used your own comrades as cannon fodder. Disgusting. Only the weak use others to protect themselves."
Green scowled and lifted his chin arrogantly, a warning burning in his acidic eyes. She suppressed a tremor at how closely his expression, the look in his eyes, the murderous and uncaring aura resembled Vicious'.
Purple sneered at her, none the worse for wear after his little tumble. "Only stupid little girls pick fights that will kill them. Of course…" He took a step towards her, his eyes slowly roving her form, amethystine irises clinging to the places he liked best. "We could have a little fun with her first, don't you think? After all, business and pleasure, you know."
Green inelegantly rolled his eyes at his partner. "Do what you want with her. She's not my type."
Mistake number one: Ignoring her in favor of conversing between themselves. Mistake number two: Insulting her.
Faye's fist shot forward with as much speed and strength as she could summon, her unhinged left shoulder screaming in limp torment with every jarring movement. Despite the pain, a smug, self-satisfied smirk curled her lips as her knuckles collided shatteringly with Green's left cheekbone in a flawless right hook, staggering his tall form back a few hopeful steps.
Green swore vividly, clutching a hand to his swollen and throbbing face, acid eyes burning at her from between long fingers. Purple had turned to her, smile vanishing in favor of a frightening glower, lips pulling back as he loosed a bestial snarl. His wolfish purple eyes narrowed to savage slits and he lifted his arms to lunge at her, but a well-placed, heavy boot buried in his abdomen, knocking the wind from his lungs viciously.
As the boot drew away, outstretched arms that had been poised to do damage came down and wrapped around Purple's midsection, who promptly fell to his knees, eyes wide and pained as his mouth gaped in breathless, wordless outrage.
Faye's own eyes were round and large in shock and puzzlement, mauve strands of silk momentarily blinding her as her neck swiveled in a serpentine movement, panicking emeralds desperately seeking out the owner of that steel-toed black boot and strong, muscular, denim-clad leg.
As her right hand raked the errant curtain of violet back behind one ear, her eyes alighted on the mystery person who had come to her rescue. In her sudden tunnel vision stood a man more beautiful than most women she had known, longish, thick hair of a chocolate tincture secured with a leather thong at the nape of a slender neck, several wayward dark locks escaping the tie and obscuring his eyes. However, the limited view of his visage revealed handsome features; an angular face and straight, thin nose, high, planed cheekbones and a confidently smirking mouth that sent a delightful shiver up her spine. He was tall, as alpine as Green, who stood as incredulous and staring as Faye. The newcomer's build was a bit less than the two Faye had been fighting, though despite his slim appearance, she could tell that beneath the smooth, tanned canvas of his flesh, he was all whipcord and muscle, sinewy body lending him the undisguised grace of a cat, a grace she had only heretofore seen possessed by Spike. His ensemble was assembled of a pair of low-cut jeans, wonderfully snug in the rear and over his thighs, and a plain black shirt mostly concealed beneath a blue cotton jacket.
She sucked in a breath to ask who he was- most likely with a few choice words and insults inserted- but Green beat her to it.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Mr. Suave shrugged his shoulders, grinning mischievously at the other still-upright man. "Who knows? Maybe I'm a bounty hunter, maybe I'm her boyfriend,"- here, he thumbed over his shoulder at Faye, who flushed and sniffed indignantly- "and maybe I'm just a smartass busybody who doesn't like the way you operate."
Faye only blinked, but the next moment, he was directly in Green's face with a glittering grin, revealing a pair of cobalt eyes, a knife he had seemed to pull from thin air shoved against Green's jugular. "Or maybe I just really hate White Tigers."
"White Tigers," Faye's face scrunched for a moment thoughtfully, then widened dramatically, something strange scribing over her features. "They're Syndicate?!" She stalked towards the man, whose blade was still pressed to the scowling and sweating Green's throat, absently kicking the slowly rising Purple in the ribs as she passed.
The man didn't even look at her, ice eyes locked cooly to Green's acid ones. "Yep. And, since they so aptly fit the descriptions, I'm guessing they're the White Tiger's current darling pair, Venom and Poison," he replied, first indicating the mafia boy he held hostage and then his partner, who had slumped to the ground again. At last, he glanced down at the sidewalk cement, grinning as he noted the unconscious Blue and Yellow. "And those must be their new pets. Nice work, Miss."
Faye pretended she wasn't noticing the smooth, rich tenor tones of his voice, oddly familiar, and stubbornly ignored the kick in her heartbeat. No way in Hell was she becoming attracted to this stranger. She was Faye Valentine, the Ice Bitch; nobody got to her… well, at least not so fast. "Yeah, unfortunately I was so busy playing with them that I didn't realize they were just frontmen for Bastard A and B." Her eyes narrowed as she mentally put herself on the defensive, knowing she shouldn't and couldn't trust this interloper. "You move like a Syndicate brat yourself; how am I to know you're not their third?"
Finally, the Prussian hues rested on her face, a sincere smile softening his lips. "You don't. And that's half the fun, right?" Still looking at her, his hand flashed and, with a flick of one wrist, he slammed the hilt of his knife into the back of Green's- Venom's- skull and released the front of his vest, letting the unconscious deadweight to the waiting embrace of the pavement. He then strode casually to Purple- Poison- and cracked the side of his foot against Poison's skull, helping him on his steep descent into oblivion.
Faye had wrapped her uninjured arm around her waist, a gesture that made her look uncertain and insecure, vulnerable, but actually was deliciously deceptive as, hidden within the confines of her suit jacket, her fingers brushed the cold, hard edge of the Glock's grip. She was fully prepared to hurt or kill this man if he turned out to be something other than the knight in shining armor he feigned.
As if sensing that she was thinking about him, he turned to her, his smile fading into a slight, one-sided frown as his eyes skittered over her frame, assessing the damages she had cultivated and numerous scrapes and bruises she had acquired in her evening jaunt. When those entrancing, heart-stirring blue eyes fell on her left arm, his mouth painted a scowl and he took a step forward.
Faye's lips parted involuntarily, fear whispering in her head as she was disturbingly sure her heart skipped a beat.
He entered her body sphere and came within a few short inches of her, and Faye felt her frame freeze, knees locking and the fingers of her right hand digging into her side. She couldn't move an inch as he more closely examined her, his breath a warm puff on her forehead, and she wasn't entirely certain she wanted to.
However, reality came crashing in on the surreal setting in a clamoring rush as he reached out, firmly grasped her limp appendage at mid-forearm and fingers curling around her bicep, lifting it, straightening it, and, with a cracking, popping, wrenching more painful than the first time, forcefully relocated her shoulder.
To her credit, Faye did not whimper, she did not cry, she did not whine; she screamed.
A loud but short shout flew unwillingly from between previously clenched teeth, making the man wince.
"You bastard!" Faye's right hand snapped out from beneath her jacket, fingers curled like vicious claws and grappled the man's shirtfront and jerking him down a bit to her eye level. Infuriatingly, his eyes held mirth and a bit of regret.
"Sorry, I could dislocate it again if you'd like it back the way it was."
Not enjoying his humor, Faye's eyes narrowed and she released his shirt, which soft and thin under her fingers, his chest firm and warm beneath the layer of cloth. Angry as much with herself as with him, she shoved at his shoulders and forced him to take a few steps back, panicking at how his proximity affected her.
"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled smoothly, grin resurfacing and faltering again, his eyes on her upper chest and shoulders, and that was when she realized that the raw, throbbing, angry red lines etched in the flesh there were bleeding.
"Oh." It didn't surprise her or bother her much, but she was pretty peeved that her silk shirt had been mangled and bloodstained because that little rat-faced thug. She shot a sullen glare at the prone body of Yellow, her eyes unwillingly drawn back to the blue pair fixed to her face seriously.
"Come on, let's get you to my apartment. You can get cleaned up there, and I'm a little first-aid knowledgeable."
Faye almost smirked, knowing she was likely more competent at bandaging and fixing people up than he was. What, with having to turn Spike into a living mummy after every other bounty, somebody on that damned ship had to play nurse. And to be honest, Jet's health-related skills sucked; after all, she had eaten his so-called food. And she didn't even want to imagine the damage Ed would do.
She came back to herself, realized the man was still staring at her and awaiting a response. She passed it off as if she had been considering the offer, noted the stubborn, determined glint in his eyes she was so used to seeing in the mirror, and sighed melodramatically. "You're not going to give up until I say 'yes', are you?"
"Damned straight." His devil-may-cry smile reappeared and she ignored his proffered hand in favor of walking beside him as he started in the direction of his alleged apartment, eyes fixed ahead and soft smile molded to his mouth as his long legs carried him forward, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.
Faye lengthened her stride a little to keep his pace, not willing to fall behind or move ahead, also a need to not let him get too far away burning illogically in her chest, commanding the gait of her legs and rate of her feet.
As they went along their way, comfortably blanketed by a thick, unconstrained silence, she snuck glances at his profile, only then noticing how oddly familiar he seemed, as if she had seen him somewhere, and recently, but couldn't put her finger on where. Her lips pursed in concentration as she continued to cast covert glimpses at him through her lashes, furtively shuffling through her still-fresh memories, trying to place this man with his magnetic air, face that should be chiseled in Roman marble, hypnotic voice and feline reflexes.
A nicotine-hazed room, sweet addiction inhaling into her lungs, air conditioner plummeting to arctic degrees chilling her flesh, the caustic, biting flavor of alcohol on her tongue, and the achingly sweet strains of a well-played acoustic guitar caressing her audile sense…
Faye's cat-green eyes enlarged, pupils dilating and lips parting as the memory struck a resonating chord… The guitar player from the Black Chapel.
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And there's no holding me back
I'm not driven by fear
I'm just driven by anger
And you're under attack
You're just climbing up slowly
I'm the one and only, I
The taste, the waste, the lie
The stumble in your mind
The fear, the hope inside
If it- if it-
But whatever you need
Ever you got
Ever you want
I'll take back again
Whatever you need
Ever you got
Ever you want
I'll take back again…[3]
Faye shrugged out her jacket and folded it over her forearm, not willing to have her Glock out of reach. She surveyed the interior of the small, one-bedroom apartment critically as guitar-guy shut the door behind her, uneasily noting the soft click as the deadbolt slid into place.
For a one-room, it was a cozy, spacious suite, located just on the corner of Valhalla and Sodom Street, the block on which all the whorehouses and her own less-than-lovely room and board were, though she'd had no idea Valhalla Avenue so much as existed until that evening.
Her eyes wandered over the simple yet elegant furniture, the theme a mix of glossy mahogany woods, the color scheme composed of lush, forest greens, rich, deep crimsons and vibrant saffron. Expansive, soft-looking Oriental rugs sprawled over the beautifully polished hardwood floors, a scatter of matching, small end tables, armchairs, couches and loveseats arranged in a hit-or-miss fashion, the only real-point seeming to be the axis of the sphere of inspired chaos a low, glass-plate coffee table. Silk curtains decorated the single bay window, settling graceful folds around the inset window seat, adorned by a silk cushion of carmine matching the drapes.
There were three doorways, excluding the kitchen, ranged about the room, on the far wall a small door that looked as if lead to a coat closet, one very near the kitchen doorway that must conceal the bathroom, and the last stood alone on the wall to the left of the front door, closed and most likely shuttering a bedroom that was just as plush as the foyer.
Finally, Faye looked over her shoulder at her host, who had been watching her observe his living space with a half smirk. One corner of her own lips seemed to turn down in an inverted answer, the other corner plunging alike when she saw the small white box with the distinctive red cross in his hands. Deciding to stall- she didn't really want him touching her; she couldn't trust her own reactions, let alone his- she swept a hand through the air, vaguely gesturing to indicate his apartment. "Ritzy place. Guitar gigs must pay very well."
He snorted a half laugh, one hand shoving through his hair, which was now loosed to fall about his cheekbones and shoulders. Her fingers itched to push a few locks behind his ear, and she was appalled to find the desire in her mind.
"So you finally figured me out, huh? I was starting to wonder if you were slow or just really bad with faces. I knew who you were the moment I saw you fighting those jackasses."
Faye felt a smirk threaten her features and forced it to become a halfhearted scowl. "If you recall, I never saw your face. You were hunchbacked over your guitar." Damn. This guy was really getting to her, and she hadn't even learned his name yet. Fine, she would just have to play the same roll to him that she always had to Spike: an uncaring, insensitive, whiny, petulant shrew.
"Like I said, really bad with faces."
She opened her mouth to volley a biting retort, but a funny thought struck her dumb. It always seemed to happen that, should she be interrupted in a brawl, a musician was always butting his fists in. Another though hit her, rather like a brick, bittersweet and ironic, and a little sad. However, she had to ask, the curiosity was morbid, but irresistible. "Tell me, do you have any woman parts under those clothes?"
Obviously, he had not been expecting a response anything like that. A sort of what-the-hell expression crossed his face quickly, reminding her, almost, of those unique, Spike-trademarked blanches whenever he tasted one of his own or Jet's new concoctions. Then his face settled into a look of amusement and perturbance, brows drawn and mouth oddly quirked. "Um, no?" There was stifled laughter in his tone and a suppressed smile in his cyan eyes.
Faye felt oddly relieved for a moment, smiling slightly, then wiping it away. "Good." Feeling she'd better change the awkward subject before questions were asked, she held out her hand demandingly. "Now are you going to give me that First-Aid kit or not?"
"No," he began, lifting the box again and placing a hand on her stomach, startling her enough so that he could steer her to the couch and force her to be seated upon the overstuffed cushions. Ignoring her as she slapped his hand away angrily, He popped open the lid of the box and began to produce several rolls of gauze. "Now, we'll need to make a sling for that arm and-"
Faye interrupted with a captious snort. "Like hell. My arm works fine; nothing a good strong dose of Tylenol won't cure. As for everything else," she snatched the bandages, tape and clips from his loaded hands, stood with an all-too sweet smile and slid around him before he could protest. "I am perfectly capable of fixing myself up."
Omitting his objections, she slid into the room she had correctly assumed to be the bathroom, flicked on the light, and leaned heavily upon the closed door, breath creating little, fast-fading puff marks on the mirror.
What is this? What is going on? How can someone I don't even know affect me like this? It doesn't make any sense. I don't like this. It's too much like-
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Finis (until next time)
*[1] This Evil World – Gob
**[2] Liar – Tonic
***[3] Whatever – Our Lady Peace
Author's note: Okay, first things first, The Apology. I know I said that this chapter wouldn't take long… but to be completely honest, I never really expected to get any reviews for the first chapter, at least not for a long while, so I figured I would definitely have this chapter done before anybody noticed a lack of updating. And besides, I keep getting grounded from the computer or shipped off to the boondocks of some state or another (Labor Day weekend was spent in THE most boring place on Earth, Mississippi- no where near anything civilized like Biloxi or ANYPLACE; the nearest Wal-Mart was twenty minutes away, the nearest McDonald's twenty more than THAT- and they had no computer, and the most fun options were playing dominoes with grandparents and walking up and down the driveway), so I haven't had a lot of opportunity to get this written. But no longer! I present to you Chapter Two: Blues and Hard Rock! And it's fifteen pages long! ^^ Whee! *calms down* … Um, yeah, *cough* right. Anyways, secondly… WOW. That was my bug-eyed, slack-jawed reaction when I returned from Mississippi to find SIX reviews for this one chapter alone, and two new ones for my oneshot, Are You Happy Now. You guys made my day, and I mean that. All your reviews were so wonderful and inspiring, really. J Lol, and no, Are You Happy Now is not a prelude or prologue for Tragic Women. No, they are two very different ideas, and I'm happy to say that this one involves a lot more than the oneshot. Oh, and you better be happy! My beta reader and reviewers alike were already predicting the return of guitar-man, so (even though I'd planned for it anyways ;p) I absolutely HAD to bring him back. And, be honest, how many of you were hoping that steel-toed boot belonged to Spike? *snorts* My Beta Reader wanted it to be him so bad, she started ranting that Spike could have died and grown out his hair and used contacts. Stretching much? I think so. And please, please, pleasepleaseplease, if you would, give specific feedback on the action sequences, because I'm pretty sure I suck at them and this is my first fic with REAL action. I really need to know where I stand on this, okay? Also, I promise that there will be more about the other CB stars in the next chapter; it won't be only about Faye for too long. I just need to do some background and plot building in these first few chapters, ok? Tanks. *winks and blows kisses* Latazz!
P.S. There's a cameo appearance in here, somebody who belongs in my "on hiatus" fic, Happenstance. Their character and garb were only slightly changed due to necessity, but if anybody can pick him or her out, I'll give them an honorable mention in the next Author's note, and that's a promise!
B.R.N. (Beta Reader Note): Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what if I wanted Spike to come back? Don't we all? If you don't know who I am, I'm the author's beta reader. Duh! I am also the beta reader from Happenstance (which if you haven't read that yet, READ IT or I will come after you with a water gun and make you wish that you had braved hell rather than incur my wrath!). Btw, is anyone else excited about the return of Mr. Mysterious? Goodness I know I wanted him to come back. So exciting! Also, if you do read this, you had better review! It inspires the author and it satisfies my curiosity – and most likely the curiosity of the author's other fans out there. So… READ AND REVIEW! You won't regret it. And, I'll leave with a few words from the greatest philosopher of all time… GIR! "Can I be a dog-mongoose?" Ciao!