Re: Bus stop: Misha & Lou
Lou didn't hear a damn word the man said. Wasn't much point in listening to it, if he was running it, because it didn't much matter and then whatever it was he said was wet, the smack of his lips bloody with the run of his nose. She heard the air in him expel, the lungs letting go and she looked instead, preternatural speed and reflexes, the smell of iron and copper and of body-sweat rancid in the night-dark.
The kid looked like he was doing some sensei shit one minute Lou looked, the kind of slow, softly-softly stuff she had never gotten her head around. Tai-chi? Something that involved gongs and flowers and running water, but Lou was blue jeans and country on the radio and fuck anything that wasn't visceral, quick and to the point. The next moment, the guy whimpering a little from the pulverizing shot her knee had taken to his balls, she heard a whole damn flock of birds, all wings and noise without a single coo and the hair on the back of her neck all stood on end in one, weird moment.
"Yeah," she said shortly, turning to look at the kid, whose skin was rising bruises and yet who didn't look like he'd touched the guy. "You? How the hell is he over there?" A moment, of clear, serious eyes taking in the scene, and Lou said, "What are you?" in the same kind of breath she might have asked the number of the bus he was waiting for. Stood to reason he was something. She looked at the guy 'cross the street again.