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realmofthemuse #185.5 Kick Something
28 Nov 2007 06:05 pmbroadsword_babeOctober, 1980
Somewhere in New Mexico
Alias: Elaine Brown (prior to her meeting Wade)
Two kills in a week makes me downright cranky. There were times when being what I am was a right pain in the ass. No kids? Eh, that’s alright, I guess. Got Brutæ to keep me company. Right, so where was I. Oh, yeah, kicking something.
So, I’m sitting down at the local bar having a drink when this real ass-hat walks in. Starts hitting on me something fierce. Word to the wise, don’t hit on me when I’m cranky. Right, so he keeps on saying shit like “remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later,” (I didn’t remember, and I didn’t scream it) and “who’s your daddy?”
“Not you,” I replied, and tossed back a shot of whiskey.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that when my conversations are reduced to one syllable words, they’d best back off or there’ll be two hits: me hitting them and them hitting the floor. This numbnuts wasn’t taking the hint.
“So, what do you say? Want to go back to my place…?”
“In your dreams.”
Then he made the massive mistake of trying to take my arm. One, I’m already having a peach of a week. Two, I’d already consumed half a bottle of whiskey. So, yeah, I was not a happy camper. I picked up his hand by the finger as if it were a snake and dropped it back down on the bar.
“Touch me again, and you’ll be singing soprano for a month.”
“A pretty thing like you? I bet you can’t make a fist.”
Oh, if he only knew that I knew over fifty different ways to kill him where he stood, with my bare hands. I only stared at him. Guys, you know that look. The one that makes you feel like you’ve swallowed two dozen bad eggs. Apparently, this genius had never had one bad egg.
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. Dumbass here was in for a rude awakening. I slid off my stool, a bit unsteady thanks to a certain Mr. Daniels.
“You want me to hit you?” I asked, just to make sure he was really that stupid.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He waved his hands in open invitation.
A quick right jab to the nose. I could feel the bone crunch beneath my knuckles as he howled in pain.
“That’s for thinking I hit like a girl.”
And, just for good measure, I gave him a good swift kick right between the wickets. I don’t think Beverly Sills could’ve hit a note that high.
“And that’s for not taking no for an answer.”
I dug a couple of twenties out of my pocket and tossed it on the bar. “Sorry about that.”
I think the dumbshit was still sobbing on the floor when I got home. Wuss.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
468 Words
Somewhere in New Mexico
Alias: Elaine Brown (prior to her meeting Wade)
Two kills in a week makes me downright cranky. There were times when being what I am was a right pain in the ass. No kids? Eh, that’s alright, I guess. Got Brutæ to keep me company. Right, so where was I. Oh, yeah, kicking something.
So, I’m sitting down at the local bar having a drink when this real ass-hat walks in. Starts hitting on me something fierce. Word to the wise, don’t hit on me when I’m cranky. Right, so he keeps on saying shit like “remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later,” (I didn’t remember, and I didn’t scream it) and “who’s your daddy?”
“Not you,” I replied, and tossed back a shot of whiskey.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that when my conversations are reduced to one syllable words, they’d best back off or there’ll be two hits: me hitting them and them hitting the floor. This numbnuts wasn’t taking the hint.
“So, what do you say? Want to go back to my place…?”
“In your dreams.”
Then he made the massive mistake of trying to take my arm. One, I’m already having a peach of a week. Two, I’d already consumed half a bottle of whiskey. So, yeah, I was not a happy camper. I picked up his hand by the finger as if it were a snake and dropped it back down on the bar.
“Touch me again, and you’ll be singing soprano for a month.”
“A pretty thing like you? I bet you can’t make a fist.”
Oh, if he only knew that I knew over fifty different ways to kill him where he stood, with my bare hands. I only stared at him. Guys, you know that look. The one that makes you feel like you’ve swallowed two dozen bad eggs. Apparently, this genius had never had one bad egg.
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. Dumbass here was in for a rude awakening. I slid off my stool, a bit unsteady thanks to a certain Mr. Daniels.
“You want me to hit you?” I asked, just to make sure he was really that stupid.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He waved his hands in open invitation.
A quick right jab to the nose. I could feel the bone crunch beneath my knuckles as he howled in pain.
“That’s for thinking I hit like a girl.”
And, just for good measure, I gave him a good swift kick right between the wickets. I don’t think Beverly Sills could’ve hit a note that high.
“And that’s for not taking no for an answer.”
I dug a couple of twenties out of my pocket and tossed it on the bar. “Sorry about that.”
I think the dumbshit was still sobbing on the floor when I got home. Wuss.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
468 Words
