"…. Jesus, Steven, you're so quiet! Is something wrong?"
Pyrrah's voice seemed to jerk him from his daze, as she drove along the five-mile road off the highway of the lively city of D.C., the gravel steady and smooth as they went along. The blue of the Ford's dashboard illuminated her features, her green eyes reflecting the light, her skin blue. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, but she glanced at him from the corners.
"You look like you're in pain, Steven."
Steve rubbed a hand across his cheek, giving her a stern, but playful glare. "Please don't call me Steven. It makes me think that I'm in some sort of trouble."
"Well," she started, body leaning flat against her seat. "You sort of are."
Steve faced her after a few moments of silence. "Wait, why am I in trouble?"
Pyrrah sighed, and slowed the truck to a stop in the middle of the road, turning to face Steve as with much annoyance on her face as she could. Maybe Steve couldn't hide the fact that he was nervous about coming to stay with her father at his place. He didn't know how the man acted, how the man was. Pyrrah was okay, she said she brought over friends all the time! But Pyrrah's father knows these friends… and Steve's only been up and about for a little while. His reaction to him could change in a heartbeat. Or worse.
He could recognize Steve.
"Hey, Handsome," Pyrrah began, patting Steve's thigh for his attention. He gave her a look.
"I'd like it if you stopped calling me that."
Pyrrah's face scrunched up adorably. "Calling you what?"
Steve set a hand to his face. "H-Handsome. It's like a nickname for me."
"My nickname for you, Handsome."
Steve sighed.
"Listen, Steve. My Dad is a great guy. He's sorta like me! Only male. And more… macho. Really. You and him are gonna get along fine."
"I hope so." Steve began.
"Well, I know so."
The drive continued on another three miles, Pyrrah's hand still on his thigh in reassurance as she drove, eyes focused on the road. It soon came up to a steel, swing-open fence, with a truck parked to block the way. This made a confused look upon her face.
As she unbuckled from her seat to get out, she paused, squinting her eyes out the window to stare at something in the distance. Steve's eyes followed to lights in front of her father's house, to see at least three trucks parked, and seven men in the yard.
It was a big, green, two-story house in the middle of green, grassy landscape, with a wide-open parking space to fit some cars in. He saw, with his vision that two men were holding a third, but elderly-looking man down on his knees. He was struggling to break free, but to no avail.
"Pyrrah," Steve breathed as he ripped the buckle out of place, reaching for the handle of the door. "Their beating your father!"
"I know." He turned to face her, eyes rigid on the line of anger and body tense, as she jammed the trucks Manuel into reverse. "Hold on to something, Rogers, I'm going in."
The truck sped back at least seven-hundred yards, making Steve press himself into the seat tightly, holding onto the side, window seal handle, as he faced Pyrrah.
"There's a truck their!" Steve exclaimed as she wrenched the car into first gear.
"I know. We're ramming it."
Steve sucked in a breath. "You're insane."
"Hey! That's what the Psychotherapist said! I'm glad you agree."
Steve couldn't tell if she had been joking or not as the car jerked into a go, the woman smashing the gears onto place as the truck went on. As they bore closer and closer, Pyrrah's hand was suddenly on his thigh, and he grabbed it.
He could feel the impact in his limbs as it hit the fence, a harsh vibration that went through him from the truck. They jerked in their seats as the fence hit the truck, the tires spinning. Pyrrah wrenched her hand back, and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, stomping on the gas pedal.
They sped towards the scene before Pyrrah stomped on the brakes, gravel and dirt spraying the air as it went. The men around the man lifted their arms to shield their faces, and the car stopped skidding a moment later.
Steve and Pyrrah were out of the truck immediately, Steve still a bit shaken, but that was from the high adrenaline pump, if anything. Pyrrah stood like steel next to him, her teeth bared and wings on her back showing, her head slightly bowed.
"HOW DARE YOU." Pyrrah demanded, almost ready to pounce like a cat at these men holding her Dad hostage and beaten like he was. "YOU BETTER LET HIM GO."
"Or what?" One of the men began, a raised eyebrow to them. "You gonna send your lapdog to get us?"
Steve squinted at the man in annoyance, as the man's eyes were broadly looking to him as if Steve couldn't handle himself against these guys. Which he could, if they knew his true status.
"Looky here, little missus," one of the older men began to her, hands up in reassurance. "We're only 'ere to teach this man a lesson. If you don't mind—"
"If ya'll don't mind, you sorry sack of fuckin' sons of bitches, that man is my Father!" Pyrrah cut in, only taking a few steps to be face-to-face to the man. "You wanna explain ta me why yer sorry ass is here?"
Steve was mildly surprised to hear she had an accent close to a country woman, if living out here had given her it or if it came from her parents.
Two men were suddenly on him, holding his arms down and behind him in a half hold, forcing him (okay, so he sort of dropped on purpose) to his knees. And he let them, with only mild struggling that a regular man would have. They old man that Pyrrah was in front of pursed his lips on thought, lifting a hand to scratch at his head.
"Well, then that changes everything, little missus!"
The slap was loud as it resounded on Pyrrah's cheek, the girl's face tipped away from him as she collapsed to one knee. Steve almost jerked out of their grip, if Pyrrah hadn't of held up a hand to stop the man.
"Well, sorry about that. Which one 'er you? Samantha? Mercedes? …. No, you're Pyrrah! I remember you."
"Yeah," she spat, the saliva from her mouth tainted in red. "Nice ta see ya too, George. How are ya?"
"'M fine, little missus, but the same can't be said for your folk."
Pyrrah stood again, glaring fiercely at the man that had smacked her, the two above Steve snickering at the sight. It made him flare with anger as he wanted to stand and give these men a message with his fists. Oh, so very badly.
But, as he put his trust in Pyrrah over these past few weeks, she would do the same for him, and he would wait for their odd connection that they have for each other. But if it didn't happen soon, he'd take matters into his own hands.
"… And why is that, George?" Pyrrah spat.
"'Cause your Pa here owes us, hon! He's owed us a lot, and we won't be leavin' until we have it."
There was a pause, as Pyrrah let put a sigh.
"Lovely evenin', right, Handsome?"
Steve tipped his head up to Pyrrah, as she rubbed at her eyes, a hand placed at her hip as she shook her head, brown locks tumbling from their place. Steve shook his head.
"You call this good?" Steve asked her.
"Not really, but it's more exciting than most. And here I was thinkin' I was gonna have a lovely time with my Pa.
"And now?"
She sighed. Again. "Now we got these fuck-nuggets!"
Steve whipped his arms free with little-to-no-effort, bringing them up and smashing their heads to Pyrrah's truck behind him, leaving behind two indents and a sickening crunching noise. He rose, as Pyrrah smashed a fist into George's nose almost instantaneously, and whipped around to the two advancing men that were coming next.
Steve tossed one face-first into the dirt, Pyrrah stomping on his temple to knock him unconscious, and Steve then sent the second flying with a kick to the side, the man rolling off the top of the truck and landing on the other side with an 'Oof!'
All other men scattered to a vacant truck, and immediately left the premises. Pyrrah crouched to her father, looking worse for wear than the woman would have liked. Steve stood off the left of her, his eyes trained on the men who were unmoving on the ground.
"Dad, how long have these men been harassing you?" Pyrrah asked as she stood him up, and steadied him on his feet.
"Few weeks now, darlin'." He answered, rubbing at the bruise forming at his jaw. "That's why I asked ya ta bring one of yer bigger fellas." He gave a grateful nod over to Steve, who nodded back.
"… Because that makes total sense." Pyrrah began, and craned her dads face around. His aged face had a few deep cuts and purple bruises, green eyes studying the face of his worried daughter, a slight smile on his face. "Steve? How do you feel like doing one more job?"
Steve glanced at Pyrrah. "What's that?"
"Hog-tie 'em."
