09-25-2015, 02:22 PM
“Heh,” the bandit snickered, wiping a splotch of blood off of her cheek. “I always knew I could smoke your punk ass.” She dragged the massive hammer out of the tattered remainder of what was once Sledge and planted it on her shoulder. She shook her hand and wiped it down her shirt, not seeming to notice the red streak that her hand left behind.
The excitement of the crowd had yet to die, the gore-splattered scene the epicenter of a din of howls and yips, the Secondaries of the gang seemingly overjoyed at their leader’s death. Or at least most of them were.
The cheers quieted as a husky supermutant barked “You kill Sledge!” from the back of the crowd, her thick hands shoveling the measly bandits and thieves out of her way to the front of the line. “You die now!” The mutant’s massive green mitts reached out towards the bandit as she lumbered forward, her fingers grasping at the air.
With one hand, the bandit with no name grabbed the handle of her laser rifle while it dangled by a sling at her hip, lazily aimed, and squeezed the trigger. A beam of red light rushed forward, instantly turning the super mutant’s head and shoulders into a fine, black ash. The creature unceremoniously flopped to the ground, tainted blood mingling with Sledge’s.
“Anybody got something else to say?” the bandit asked, her eyebrow lifted and her lips pursed mockingly. She looked over the silent crowd incredulously, her weapon flagging each of them as swept it around calmly. When no more dissenting voices called out, she smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Allowing the rifle to slip down to her side, the bandit lugged her new prize towards her truck, smiling up to Caret. She tossed the hammer up over the side walls of the bed, slamming with a clatter as it landed. She nodded to the mechanic joyfully and gestured for her to come down.
Caret vaulted the railing of the truck bed and fell to her feet on the sand. “That was totally,” crazy she rattled off, excitement rushing through every expression. “How did you even do that? I mean, after all you’ve gone thr-“
The bandit wrapped an arm around Caret’s shoulder and brought their heads together close. “I’m going to need your help,” she whispered to her companion, still cockily grinning and waving to the marauders, who had only grown in numbers.
“What?” Caret said, clearly confused.
The bandit led their path, pulling them around the edge of the truck. As soon as they had passed the threshold of the grill and were out of sight, the bandit collapsed into the truck’s door. “Oh fuck,” she gasped, pulling at her armor with trembling hands, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
Caret’s expressed shifted from one of elation to panic, her hands moving to the armor in an attempt to help. “What happened? What’s going on?” she stammered, searching for the issue as they stripped the metal carapace from her shoulders.
Wincing, the bandit ripped the tattered back-plate off of herself and looked it over. Three small holes perforated it where Sledge’s shotgun had hit her. “Piece of shit,” she swore and tossed it to the side. The ran her hand under her shirt, feeling along the long series of sutures down her front. She attempted to take a deep breath, but it caught halfway through as a sharp, stabbing pain radiated through her chest and upper back. “I don’t know, I think maybe the stitches ripped or something.”
“What, where?” Caret said, eyes wide. “Are you sure the bullets didn’t hit you when he got you on the ground?”
Shaking her head, the bandit began to pant heavily, sweat rolling from her forehead and her dreads tumbled around her face. “I dunno.” She wheezed heavily and looked up to the pink-haired woman. ”I don’t know, it just hurts.”
Care grabbed the edges of her tatter, blood-soeaked top and began pulling. “Pull up your shirt, let me see.” The bandit acquiesced and bent over, allowing Caret to pull the fabric over her shoulders. “I only think one went in. I think I… Ew,” she poked the woman’s dark skin, trying to get a better angle to see the blood of the injury. “Ew, yeah, I can see it. It didn’t go in very deep.”
“Son of a fuck it hurts,” the bandit wheezed. “I mean, I haven’t made a big habit out of being shot, is it supposed to hurt this bad?”
“I don’t know! Why the hell would I know?” Caret threw her hands in the air in total exasperation and then grabbed the top of her head, tousling her hair anxiously. “We met because you got shot! Didn’t it hurt then?”
“I don’t know,” the bandit said angrily, awkwardly standing and fixing her shirt, “I was pretty much unconscious the whole time.”
“For Omni’s sake man, why did you fight like that? You had surgery like, a month ago! Don’t you like, need more time? Isn’t that something that takes time to heal, surgery?” Caret rattled off, now pacing back and forth.
“Fuck if I know, man.” The bandit sighed, resignation washing over her posture. She leaned against the side of the truck, eyes looking towards the cliffs that spanned in front of her. She spied the sun, hanging in the sky, staring down with its dispassionate gawking pupil. “Yeah, fuck it,” she said, shaking her head. “Yup.” She pushed herself from the door and took another shallow breath, “Fuck it.”
The woman walked from the shelter of the truck, Caret staring at her with confusion and lingering fear. The bandit held her hand up in the air and yelled out, “Yo, who’s got a smoke?”
A short, mohawked man opened a breast-pocket of his jean-jacket, from which the sleeves had been torn off. He pulled out a red pack and tossed it over to the bandit, tilting his chin back. “Keep the pack, boss.”
The bandit nodded, “Thanks.” She opened the carton and flipped one of the butts upside down before withdrawing another and putting it between her lips. She painfully hoisted the las rifle from its sling and held the barrel up to the tip of the cigarette, pulling the trigger to light it. She inhaled deeply, allowing the burning sensation to intermingle with the stabbing agony of her wound.
“Alright,” she said after another puff, “Who’s ready to go fuck up some townies?”
The excitement of the crowd had yet to die, the gore-splattered scene the epicenter of a din of howls and yips, the Secondaries of the gang seemingly overjoyed at their leader’s death. Or at least most of them were.
The cheers quieted as a husky supermutant barked “You kill Sledge!” from the back of the crowd, her thick hands shoveling the measly bandits and thieves out of her way to the front of the line. “You die now!” The mutant’s massive green mitts reached out towards the bandit as she lumbered forward, her fingers grasping at the air.
With one hand, the bandit with no name grabbed the handle of her laser rifle while it dangled by a sling at her hip, lazily aimed, and squeezed the trigger. A beam of red light rushed forward, instantly turning the super mutant’s head and shoulders into a fine, black ash. The creature unceremoniously flopped to the ground, tainted blood mingling with Sledge’s.
“Anybody got something else to say?” the bandit asked, her eyebrow lifted and her lips pursed mockingly. She looked over the silent crowd incredulously, her weapon flagging each of them as swept it around calmly. When no more dissenting voices called out, she smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Allowing the rifle to slip down to her side, the bandit lugged her new prize towards her truck, smiling up to Caret. She tossed the hammer up over the side walls of the bed, slamming with a clatter as it landed. She nodded to the mechanic joyfully and gestured for her to come down.
Caret vaulted the railing of the truck bed and fell to her feet on the sand. “That was totally,” crazy she rattled off, excitement rushing through every expression. “How did you even do that? I mean, after all you’ve gone thr-“
The bandit wrapped an arm around Caret’s shoulder and brought their heads together close. “I’m going to need your help,” she whispered to her companion, still cockily grinning and waving to the marauders, who had only grown in numbers.
“What?” Caret said, clearly confused.
The bandit led their path, pulling them around the edge of the truck. As soon as they had passed the threshold of the grill and were out of sight, the bandit collapsed into the truck’s door. “Oh fuck,” she gasped, pulling at her armor with trembling hands, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
Caret’s expressed shifted from one of elation to panic, her hands moving to the armor in an attempt to help. “What happened? What’s going on?” she stammered, searching for the issue as they stripped the metal carapace from her shoulders.
Wincing, the bandit ripped the tattered back-plate off of herself and looked it over. Three small holes perforated it where Sledge’s shotgun had hit her. “Piece of shit,” she swore and tossed it to the side. The ran her hand under her shirt, feeling along the long series of sutures down her front. She attempted to take a deep breath, but it caught halfway through as a sharp, stabbing pain radiated through her chest and upper back. “I don’t know, I think maybe the stitches ripped or something.”
“What, where?” Caret said, eyes wide. “Are you sure the bullets didn’t hit you when he got you on the ground?”
Shaking her head, the bandit began to pant heavily, sweat rolling from her forehead and her dreads tumbled around her face. “I dunno.” She wheezed heavily and looked up to the pink-haired woman. ”I don’t know, it just hurts.”
Care grabbed the edges of her tatter, blood-soeaked top and began pulling. “Pull up your shirt, let me see.” The bandit acquiesced and bent over, allowing Caret to pull the fabric over her shoulders. “I only think one went in. I think I… Ew,” she poked the woman’s dark skin, trying to get a better angle to see the blood of the injury. “Ew, yeah, I can see it. It didn’t go in very deep.”
“Son of a fuck it hurts,” the bandit wheezed. “I mean, I haven’t made a big habit out of being shot, is it supposed to hurt this bad?”
“I don’t know! Why the hell would I know?” Caret threw her hands in the air in total exasperation and then grabbed the top of her head, tousling her hair anxiously. “We met because you got shot! Didn’t it hurt then?”
“I don’t know,” the bandit said angrily, awkwardly standing and fixing her shirt, “I was pretty much unconscious the whole time.”
“For Omni’s sake man, why did you fight like that? You had surgery like, a month ago! Don’t you like, need more time? Isn’t that something that takes time to heal, surgery?” Caret rattled off, now pacing back and forth.
“Fuck if I know, man.” The bandit sighed, resignation washing over her posture. She leaned against the side of the truck, eyes looking towards the cliffs that spanned in front of her. She spied the sun, hanging in the sky, staring down with its dispassionate gawking pupil. “Yeah, fuck it,” she said, shaking her head. “Yup.” She pushed herself from the door and took another shallow breath, “Fuck it.”
The woman walked from the shelter of the truck, Caret staring at her with confusion and lingering fear. The bandit held her hand up in the air and yelled out, “Yo, who’s got a smoke?”
A short, mohawked man opened a breast-pocket of his jean-jacket, from which the sleeves had been torn off. He pulled out a red pack and tossed it over to the bandit, tilting his chin back. “Keep the pack, boss.”
The bandit nodded, “Thanks.” She opened the carton and flipped one of the butts upside down before withdrawing another and putting it between her lips. She painfully hoisted the las rifle from its sling and held the barrel up to the tip of the cigarette, pulling the trigger to light it. She inhaled deeply, allowing the burning sensation to intermingle with the stabbing agony of her wound.
“Alright,” she said after another puff, “Who’s ready to go fuck up some townies?”
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