Stic 3.
Darkness spread like a blanket around Paris. Not the city of love- that was illuminated by thousands of twinkling lights. This is the other, rougher part of Paris. The part where you can hear rats wriggling in the bins. The part where you had to watch out.
The part Marc lived in.
Mark edged further into the dark, street corner as anonymous figures circled around him.
Mean.
Angry.
Violent.
Oh shit.
Without warning the tallest one threw a punch, Shooting pain through Marc's right cheekbone, which he cupped gently, wincing.
When first meeting Marc, you might expect Tears to prick in his eyes and threaten to spill out.
Nah...
Maybe, if they had meant anything to him but he didn't even know these men; there was no grand betrayal or Stab at his emotions.
His face just hurt.
A lot.
And it would probably leave a bruise.
On his face.
How fucking rude!
As a result (and with a newly lit fire in his belly,) he rocked on his feet and punched the biggest one in the stomach.
Now, you see dear reader: The tall, mean, asshole that smacked Marc was now doubled over in pain, giving our precious child a full invitation to... basically... knock him out.
This meant that what was once tall and scary, was now in a pitiful heap on the floor.
At this, Mark trampled over the body and scaled a handily nearby building, making his way back to home sweet home; the tall guy's friends wondered what the hell just happened.
But he had a lot of explaining to do.