07-05-2017, 12:18 PM
“Wait unthil you thee my daring esthcape,” I slurred mockingly, blood-tinged saliva dribbling from my lips. This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself chained, though never by someone quite so butch.
“P-please,” the spray-tanned ginger stammered, flexing his metallic mitt. “I d-don’t want to kill you.”
“Hocus Po...no,” I muttered. “Bibitty boppity...no, thit!”
“I-is that a surrender?” the bandaged brawler asked, cocking a brow.
“No, thut up,” I grunted, pulling the chains tight. “I have thomething for thith.”
“If you d-don’t relent, I’ll kn-nock you unconscious instead,” my foe muttered, raising his prosthetic.
Oh, fine.
“Klaatu barata...FUCK YOU!”
With all the strength I could muster, I swung my legs in a wide arc, using the portal as a fulcrum. My hip plowed painfully into my captor’s armored shins, knocking his feet from under him. With his focus broken, I felt the chains go slack around my wrists as he fell heavily beside me on the linoleum tile. Without a second to spare, I sprang upon him and brought a fist soundly across his unshaven mug. One, two, three. One for Blue, one for Cell, and one for me.
Despite my insistence, I could deliver him only a fraction of what he deserved before I felt iron digits grip my throat, threatening asphyxiation for what felt like a full minute before tossing me across the ruined sales floor. As I skidded to a stop beside a display of sporting equipment, I saw a familiar flash of gold, a pair of ornate spears soon ripping toward me. My half-drunk mind was capable of comprehending the threat, but not moving my heavy limbs out of the way in time to avoid a spearhead tearing a chunk out of my calf as I barrel-rolled behind a volleyball rack.
So, he wanted a piece of me?
“TURN AN’ BURN!” I belted, scrambling to my feet and leaping from behind the display. I let loose a swarm of lead wasps with my left hand, unloading two servings of buckshot with my right. Hobo Superman staggered backward as the pellets hit him, a wall of purple light materializing in front of him to soak up the wrath of my MP40.
“Y-you’re leaving m-me little choice,” the amputee nearly growled, dispelling his barrier and raising a tanned fist as if to threaten fisticuffs.
“Yeah-” I felt the air seem to tremble, my snarky response lost as a net of slashing force bore down on me, tearing long lacerations across my exposed chest as the volleyball display popped like bubblewrap. Tiny knives dances across my flesh, crimson blood dribbling free from the fresh wounds. “The hell even are you?”
“The v-victor,” my foe commented solemnly, dashing forward with his fist reared.
I did not want another of those.
I hauled bloody ass up and over the checkout counter, scrambling to take up Zedd’s staff. I’d need any help I could get at this point. Narrowly dodging another strike from the rampaging redhead, I darted down the length of the counter, grabbing up an unbroken bottle of Fabulous: by Karl Jak from among the shattered glass, ignoring the ridiculous portrait on the bottle. Feeling the familiar warmth of that damned bullshit portal on my back once more, I spun on the spot, pegging the perfume at the idiot’s domepiece.
“W-what is this?” Scruffy sputtered, coughing as the bottle shattered against his face and covered him in noxious cologne.
“Fabulouth,” I lisped, raising my staff high. “Becauth you’re worth it.” I brought the staff down with prejudice, lips curling into a sneer. I had him.
CLANG.
“Oh, COME ON,” I complained, the staff now bent at a comical right angle. Did that skinless freak buy this thing at a costume shop?
Seconds later, my incensed and now incense-d opponent found his bearings, this time putting his fists clean through the durable oak counter like it was papier-mâché. I could issue naught but a squeak in response as he grabbed my wrist and flung me overhead, burying me a foot in the building’s foundation. Blow after blow fell across my previously handsome face, pounding my cheekbones into something more closely resembling a fleshy bag of broken safety glass.
“I d-didn’t want to have to d-do this,” Scruffy said, shaking his head solemnly.
“Neifer did I,” I choked out, coughing a mouthful of blood from my numb lips. “You’re not the only one wif a holy relic.”
The burly warrior paused, eyes widening with shock. “W-what do you h-have?” he asked, inquisitive eyes not two feet from my own.
I pulled myself shakily to a seated position, numb fingers reaching into my knapsack. Me eyes widened as I gripped around the glassy surface. “Behinth you!” I gasped.
“Wha-”
The sentence hung unfinished as I smashed the aged wine bottle over his head.
“P-please,” the spray-tanned ginger stammered, flexing his metallic mitt. “I d-don’t want to kill you.”
“Hocus Po...no,” I muttered. “Bibitty boppity...no, thit!”
“I-is that a surrender?” the bandaged brawler asked, cocking a brow.
“No, thut up,” I grunted, pulling the chains tight. “I have thomething for thith.”
“If you d-don’t relent, I’ll kn-nock you unconscious instead,” my foe muttered, raising his prosthetic.
Oh, fine.
“Klaatu barata...FUCK YOU!”
With all the strength I could muster, I swung my legs in a wide arc, using the portal as a fulcrum. My hip plowed painfully into my captor’s armored shins, knocking his feet from under him. With his focus broken, I felt the chains go slack around my wrists as he fell heavily beside me on the linoleum tile. Without a second to spare, I sprang upon him and brought a fist soundly across his unshaven mug. One, two, three. One for Blue, one for Cell, and one for me.
Despite my insistence, I could deliver him only a fraction of what he deserved before I felt iron digits grip my throat, threatening asphyxiation for what felt like a full minute before tossing me across the ruined sales floor. As I skidded to a stop beside a display of sporting equipment, I saw a familiar flash of gold, a pair of ornate spears soon ripping toward me. My half-drunk mind was capable of comprehending the threat, but not moving my heavy limbs out of the way in time to avoid a spearhead tearing a chunk out of my calf as I barrel-rolled behind a volleyball rack.
So, he wanted a piece of me?
“TURN AN’ BURN!” I belted, scrambling to my feet and leaping from behind the display. I let loose a swarm of lead wasps with my left hand, unloading two servings of buckshot with my right. Hobo Superman staggered backward as the pellets hit him, a wall of purple light materializing in front of him to soak up the wrath of my MP40.
“Y-you’re leaving m-me little choice,” the amputee nearly growled, dispelling his barrier and raising a tanned fist as if to threaten fisticuffs.
“Yeah-” I felt the air seem to tremble, my snarky response lost as a net of slashing force bore down on me, tearing long lacerations across my exposed chest as the volleyball display popped like bubblewrap. Tiny knives dances across my flesh, crimson blood dribbling free from the fresh wounds. “The hell even are you?”
“The v-victor,” my foe commented solemnly, dashing forward with his fist reared.
I did not want another of those.
I hauled bloody ass up and over the checkout counter, scrambling to take up Zedd’s staff. I’d need any help I could get at this point. Narrowly dodging another strike from the rampaging redhead, I darted down the length of the counter, grabbing up an unbroken bottle of Fabulous: by Karl Jak from among the shattered glass, ignoring the ridiculous portrait on the bottle. Feeling the familiar warmth of that damned bullshit portal on my back once more, I spun on the spot, pegging the perfume at the idiot’s domepiece.
“W-what is this?” Scruffy sputtered, coughing as the bottle shattered against his face and covered him in noxious cologne.
“Fabulouth,” I lisped, raising my staff high. “Becauth you’re worth it.” I brought the staff down with prejudice, lips curling into a sneer. I had him.
CLANG.
“Oh, COME ON,” I complained, the staff now bent at a comical right angle. Did that skinless freak buy this thing at a costume shop?
Seconds later, my incensed and now incense-d opponent found his bearings, this time putting his fists clean through the durable oak counter like it was papier-mâché. I could issue naught but a squeak in response as he grabbed my wrist and flung me overhead, burying me a foot in the building’s foundation. Blow after blow fell across my previously handsome face, pounding my cheekbones into something more closely resembling a fleshy bag of broken safety glass.
“I d-didn’t want to have to d-do this,” Scruffy said, shaking his head solemnly.
“Neifer did I,” I choked out, coughing a mouthful of blood from my numb lips. “You’re not the only one wif a holy relic.”
The burly warrior paused, eyes widening with shock. “W-what do you h-have?” he asked, inquisitive eyes not two feet from my own.
I pulled myself shakily to a seated position, numb fingers reaching into my knapsack. Me eyes widened as I gripped around the glassy surface. “Behinth you!” I gasped.
“Wha-”
The sentence hung unfinished as I smashed the aged wine bottle over his head.
Quote:800 words.
Running out the door so I can't do a full recap, but the Z Staff and old wine bottle I had are both not real weapons so treat them as such.
![[Image: sterling-archer.jpg]](https://hollywoodhatesme.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/sterling-archer.jpg)