Reina McClaine-Hawthorne I was out tonight, for no particular reason, out and hunting for some excitement, maybe. The fact that he told me not to go back into the Kitchen made me want to go back more. I've done that al my life, done the opposite of what people told me to do. You're good at keeping people on their toes, my love. I could hear Geoffrey's voice in my mind just as clearly as I heard traffic. My sort of fun, tonight, wouldn't be going out to bars, or getting the phone numbers of men. It was cute to make them think they had been getting somewhere. I wanted to make someone regret hurting people tonight. So it just happened to be where I picked. He had said it was dangerous here. People needed to be saved all the time. Why shouldn't I help, I should if I can, right? A scream breaks my thoughts, it echoes off of the buildings, and reverberates into the night air.

My eyes narrow in that direction, I lower my head a bit and I start to run. I don't care if I'm found here by someone, don't care at all. It's farther than I thought it would be, but I hear the scream again, in the night, so I know whoever let it out, wouldn't be hurt too badly, enough for me to help, to save even. I'm not as experienced in this sort of thing, however. I know what to do in a fight, but not how to approach it ..really. I hear struggling down an alley-way, so I must have the right place, I slip into it, and then I'm simply confounded by what I see. No group of thugs. No damsel in distress. Nothing that would make that sound, just some strange looking man rattling a dumpster and somehow making sounds of a struggle. I look at him quizzically. "Uhm..ye go' a problem?" The man turns, and all sounds of a struggle are gone, just he and I in this alley, and he's looking like he's missing a few bricks. He brings up a gun and levels it on me. "Gotta know...always got these hero types around, guy can't make a decent killing even in the slums...what's wrong lady? The skies in the good part of the city too crowded with the spandex folk?" I blink. A gun. I was warned, I have to admit. I lift my hands some, playing the caught culprit. "Who's ta say I ain't out 'ere lookin' ta take yer quarry?"

"Heh! Not so tough now. Freak." The man's nearing me, and I just watch him for now, I don't want to hurt him, I just wanted to help whoever needed helping, and apparently he needed help, just not in the traditional sense. "Look, ye got..some..grievances, I can understand tha', bu' those are dangerous, and ye..shouldnae be shootin' anybody." What's worse is, I don't want to hurt him. He deserves to go to jail just like everyone else. When he gets close enough, I reach out to grab his wrist, and as I'm about to grab his wrist, he pulls the trigger. I feel the heated hunk of metal rip into my shoulder, but not exit out the other side. I stumble back a bit, but look up. Now, I'm pissed, and all he can see of my face are those green eyes of mine. The wound doesn't bleed much, but I know it'll hurt like hell getting that bullet out. "Not so tough are ya, toots?"

There should be more blood. There has to be more blood, it should be soaking into the fabric of her clothes. The man looked like he was going to panic, was going to run. Gaining my ground, I grab his wrist with both my hands, my shoulder aches, it hurts. He pulls the trigger again, but this time I've lifted it up enough so that it simply grazes my shoulder. I hiss in a breath none the less, it tears my sleeve, my skin bleeds for a few moments, before the gash put in by the bullet seals up. I pull his wrist down, while bringing my knee up, and I crack his wrist into my knee cap, once...then twice. He shouts a bit as the gun falls out of his hand. I let go of him with one hand, and swing to kick his chest, sending him back a bit. "Tha' 'urts! Now 'ow am I gonna get tha bullet out? I'll 'aveta cut into myself. Do ye know 'ow much tha' 'urts?!" The man's tossed back, landing on his backside, grunting some, tumbling. He's shocked, I can see it in his eyes. He expected me to go down from this.

He's cowering now, or at least appears to be, until he opens his mouth. The sound effects earlier must have been part of his talent, because what hits me next makes me go flying back, right into the wall. Some sort of sonic blast. He has that, and he needed a gun?! I slide down from the wall, to the ground, grunting a bit, but I stand up slowly. I don't like that, I can feel bruises forming, but slowly fading away under this costume. The gunshots going off, they alerted people, I could hear sirens. The man turns his head at that, which gives me the opportunity. I pull out my staff from behind me, the tip is bloody, having collided with the wall sent part of it into my back. I'm going to be so sore. I whip it as hard as I can, aiming for the man's head, it hits his temple, and he falls slack to the ground in a heap. Grunting. He's out. I pull out a pair of cuffs, yes, I have cuffs, I then drag him out to the street with the gun near his head. I wait until I see the police lights before I run. They'll take it from here. They'll take him in. for now I have to get this thing out of my shoulder, and there's only one place I can think of going... . . .to Steve.

 

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