Bart Allen (just_impulse) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-01-20 18:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | bart allen, benjamin tennyson |
Who: Bart and anyone who feels like playing hero
When: Night, around ten
Where: An alley
What: Sometimes kids really shouldn’t be trusted to be on their own…
At the end of every conversation that he had with Oliver Queen, there were warnings of "be careful" and "watch yourself, Bart" and "please try not to get into too much trouble, okay?"
He tried to abide, but sometimes he was too much of a careless teenager to keep himself in check completely. He’d proved that two nights ago, when he’d stood drinking a coke on a street corner, not paying attention to his surroundings and therefore not ready to defend himself if something were to happen. And something did happen, of course. A vampire, fangs at the ready, came at him from behind, wrapped its fingers around his neck and delivered a good sized clawing to his face. He left the scene with a bloody gash, but the vampire wasn’t so lucky, and didn’t leave at all.
He was proud of that. Leaving a fresh pile of ashes on the ground was satisfying in an odd, unusual way. It was kind of like beating the last level on a really good game. It gave off a similar feeling of victory. He couldn’t help it. Things like that satisfied him.
But tonight he wasn’t planning on throwing himself back into la la land, where threatening noises were blocked and unheard during that vital moment. He was aware and on guard, ready to be on the other side of the country faster than one could blink, or maybe even prepared to push another piece of wood into somebody’s heart. Whatever.
His normal, everyday street clothing was forgotten and in its place there was that familiar costume. Red everywhere, like a plague of… red. His hood was over his head, the concealing sunglasses in place and the sneakers tightened and pounding against the pavement. He was in no way not prepared… He was so ready to not be taken advantage of…
…He was pushed back against a wall. And that wasn’t good. Not good at all.
He stopped for a moment, but that was enough. He was in an alley, a hand once again around his neck. There was no vampire this time. He was quite sure that this attacker was a demon. He certainly was ugly enough to be one of the more evil varieties. His skin was black, rough, there were two horns sprouting from his forehead, and the kid was fucked.
He felt that way anyway. The grip on his neck was too strong to be shaken off and if he couldn’t get the thing off of him, he couldn’t run. If he could, he’d have a chance of either killing the beast, or fleeing. Right about now, those options were unusable, and the lack of air was a different story all together.