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anzilaI finished that story I worked on earlier, tell me what you think. I still don't know if I'm going to expand upon it...
Story:
I sigh to myself as I reach for the bottle. He's showing all the telltale signs, a slight muscle twitch, a dilation of the pupils, a quickening of breath. Oh yea, this guy's definitely not going to just let this go peacefully. I had hopes that this one might see reason, but seeing as he’s ten seconds from punching me in the face, I guess that was expecting too much.
Take it easy, just like they taught you. Don’t give yourself away, you’re just taking a drink. Five seconds. Pull back the bottle. Four seconds. Lift it towards your mouth. Three seconds. Okay, his arms up, everyone knows what he intends. Two seconds. Okay conscience, I gave him a head start.
I swing the bottle of Lone Star at his head while twisting my own out of the way. Have to compensate for the close quarters, it’d be real embarrassing to get caught on the bar now. Can’t get as much force at this angle, luckily the bottle more than makes up for it. I watch it connect with his face, the glass cracking quite nicely (I had hoped it would explode spectacularly, but I guess this will have to do. Ri always did accuse me of being a drama queen), crumpling his face beneath it. His head snaps to the side, trying to go with the force, every internal system working unconsciously to minimize the damage. They fail. His nose explodes with a decent crack, and blood shoots out in a cloud across the bar. The sound his jaw makes is far more fulfilling than his nose. Almost makes up for the bottle not shattering. I follow the force of the blow, spinning on the stool until the bottle rests by my side, leaving me open. That gives his buddies a chance to decide to be somewhere else. Beer drips through the cracks in the bottle. Not big loss, it was a pretty shitty beer.
All it takes is one glance up to confirm that his buddies are about as bright as he is. One on the left has a knife. Priority target. The two on the left are coming at me with their bare hands. Morons. Secondary targets. The guy right in front of me is going for a chair. Good, it’ll take him two seconds to reach it, another one to lift it and three to bring it around. More than enough time to deal with Knifey.
It's just gonna be one of those nights…
I snap my hand up and hurl the bottle at Knifey, and don’t wait to see if it connects. Two steps towards him and the bottle hits Knifey dead on. Not a lot of force, but once again, it doesn’t take much to make a bottle to the face hurt. He reels back clutching his eye, and screaming something, I really don’t care what. The knife is swinging wildly. Frankly I shouldn’t have thrown the bottle, a planned attack is easy to avoid, it’s the random ones that catch ya. Shut up, there’ll be time to reprimand yourself later, right now his pals are almost on you. Good advice, sometimes listening to myself helps, but anymore pearls of wisdom can wait. I’m now on Knifey. I get past the blade, and grab his wrist with my right hand. My left curls into a half-fist, which proceeded to introduce itself to his throat three times. I’ve always hated the feeling of a man’s windpipe collapsing under my knuckles, the feeling of that hollow tube being crushed, cutting off their air. Still the feeling isn’t as bad as the sound of desperate gasping, as they try to force air up their shattered throats. It’s great motivation to deal with the other guys.
Snatching the blade from where Knifey dropped it I turn to see Chair hesitated for a second. No problem, adjust for delay and, your back on track. He lifts the chair and runs at me, cutting off his two buddies, eliminating their numerical advantage. Amateurs.
He swings the chair in left, I jump back out of its arc, then catch him when he tries to bring it back around. I put the knife in his throat rather than his stomach, making sure I push in enough to get the spine. Luckily for him I’m in a merciful mood, he probably didn’t even know he was dead, a stomach wound takes a lot longer to kill a man. The knife’s pretty cheap, so I just leave it in, no sense in wasting the time to pull it out. It’ll reduce the blood stain anyway, Ted hates it when blood soaks into the wood.
Last two guys are coming in. One catches Chair as he drops, poor bastard doesn’t realize he’s dead. That leaves Number Two on my left. He swings at my head, and I take it on the arm. I don’t like to block, but not room to dodge, and the punch to high to manipulate, an arms better than a head. I knock the arm away at the same time I strike his nose with my palm. He’s a little taller than me, but it doesn’t make a difference, the nose explodes into my hand, covering it in blood, snot, and a few other choice liquids. It’s disgusting, but I’ve been coated in worse. I shift my left hand down and grab his wrist, then pull him against my knee. He’s still off balance from the nose, so he doesn’t resist, just how I like ‘em. Needless to say the knee drops him, and probably makes him wish he got the knife.
Number One is staring at Chair and screaming inanely. I can already tell he’s going into shock. Good, that means I don’t have to take him out, it’s gonna be hard enough getting this crap outta my clothes.
Turning to Ted, who looks to be somewhere between pisses of and resigned acceptance, I toss him a couple bucks for the damage. No point in pissing off the barkeep. Women come and go, but a good bartender is tough to find. That’s a relationship that needs effort put into it.
Pulling up my hood I head out into the rain. I need a shower.
Story:
I sigh to myself as I reach for the bottle. He's showing all the telltale signs, a slight muscle twitch, a dilation of the pupils, a quickening of breath. Oh yea, this guy's definitely not going to just let this go peacefully. I had hopes that this one might see reason, but seeing as he’s ten seconds from punching me in the face, I guess that was expecting too much.
Take it easy, just like they taught you. Don’t give yourself away, you’re just taking a drink. Five seconds. Pull back the bottle. Four seconds. Lift it towards your mouth. Three seconds. Okay, his arms up, everyone knows what he intends. Two seconds. Okay conscience, I gave him a head start.
I swing the bottle of Lone Star at his head while twisting my own out of the way. Have to compensate for the close quarters, it’d be real embarrassing to get caught on the bar now. Can’t get as much force at this angle, luckily the bottle more than makes up for it. I watch it connect with his face, the glass cracking quite nicely (I had hoped it would explode spectacularly, but I guess this will have to do. Ri always did accuse me of being a drama queen), crumpling his face beneath it. His head snaps to the side, trying to go with the force, every internal system working unconsciously to minimize the damage. They fail. His nose explodes with a decent crack, and blood shoots out in a cloud across the bar. The sound his jaw makes is far more fulfilling than his nose. Almost makes up for the bottle not shattering. I follow the force of the blow, spinning on the stool until the bottle rests by my side, leaving me open. That gives his buddies a chance to decide to be somewhere else. Beer drips through the cracks in the bottle. Not big loss, it was a pretty shitty beer.
All it takes is one glance up to confirm that his buddies are about as bright as he is. One on the left has a knife. Priority target. The two on the left are coming at me with their bare hands. Morons. Secondary targets. The guy right in front of me is going for a chair. Good, it’ll take him two seconds to reach it, another one to lift it and three to bring it around. More than enough time to deal with Knifey.
It's just gonna be one of those nights…
I snap my hand up and hurl the bottle at Knifey, and don’t wait to see if it connects. Two steps towards him and the bottle hits Knifey dead on. Not a lot of force, but once again, it doesn’t take much to make a bottle to the face hurt. He reels back clutching his eye, and screaming something, I really don’t care what. The knife is swinging wildly. Frankly I shouldn’t have thrown the bottle, a planned attack is easy to avoid, it’s the random ones that catch ya. Shut up, there’ll be time to reprimand yourself later, right now his pals are almost on you. Good advice, sometimes listening to myself helps, but anymore pearls of wisdom can wait. I’m now on Knifey. I get past the blade, and grab his wrist with my right hand. My left curls into a half-fist, which proceeded to introduce itself to his throat three times. I’ve always hated the feeling of a man’s windpipe collapsing under my knuckles, the feeling of that hollow tube being crushed, cutting off their air. Still the feeling isn’t as bad as the sound of desperate gasping, as they try to force air up their shattered throats. It’s great motivation to deal with the other guys.
Snatching the blade from where Knifey dropped it I turn to see Chair hesitated for a second. No problem, adjust for delay and, your back on track. He lifts the chair and runs at me, cutting off his two buddies, eliminating their numerical advantage. Amateurs.
He swings the chair in left, I jump back out of its arc, then catch him when he tries to bring it back around. I put the knife in his throat rather than his stomach, making sure I push in enough to get the spine. Luckily for him I’m in a merciful mood, he probably didn’t even know he was dead, a stomach wound takes a lot longer to kill a man. The knife’s pretty cheap, so I just leave it in, no sense in wasting the time to pull it out. It’ll reduce the blood stain anyway, Ted hates it when blood soaks into the wood.
Last two guys are coming in. One catches Chair as he drops, poor bastard doesn’t realize he’s dead. That leaves Number Two on my left. He swings at my head, and I take it on the arm. I don’t like to block, but not room to dodge, and the punch to high to manipulate, an arms better than a head. I knock the arm away at the same time I strike his nose with my palm. He’s a little taller than me, but it doesn’t make a difference, the nose explodes into my hand, covering it in blood, snot, and a few other choice liquids. It’s disgusting, but I’ve been coated in worse. I shift my left hand down and grab his wrist, then pull him against my knee. He’s still off balance from the nose, so he doesn’t resist, just how I like ‘em. Needless to say the knee drops him, and probably makes him wish he got the knife.
Number One is staring at Chair and screaming inanely. I can already tell he’s going into shock. Good, that means I don’t have to take him out, it’s gonna be hard enough getting this crap outta my clothes.
Turning to Ted, who looks to be somewhere between pisses of and resigned acceptance, I toss him a couple bucks for the damage. No point in pissing off the barkeep. Women come and go, but a good bartender is tough to find. That’s a relationship that needs effort put into it.
Pulling up my hood I head out into the rain. I need a shower.
