Dahlia was casually contemplating the bottle in her hand, drunk logic considering sitting down in the cold and drinking until she figured out where the hell the door had went--reasonable, right?--when someone came hurtling out of her trailer. Since it was, in her head, still hers. Startled, she dropped her keys again, staring in slack-jawed confusion as he moved toward her, all of her senses filtering through the slurry of her brain. His face was shapeless dough in the dark; his words sounded alien in her ears.
Part of her--the little pilot flame that fired up at a moment's notice--saw 'approaching shadowy figure' and told her to go. She'd fought in drunken brawls before. Hell, she'd won some of them. They generally didn't start with strange men in shadows leaping out of what she presumed was her own trailer, but the rest was basically the same, wasn't it?
Thing is, everyone has a plan--right up until they get punched. Dahlia just managed to stammer, "Who th'fuck--why th'hell are you in my--" just before she was bodily lifted off her feet. The only other thought she had time to think: what the fuck--someone was in there?--
The follow-up thought would have been for most people, at that point: whoops, maybe I have the wrong trailer. Drunk and ornery as hell, though, Dahlia was, unfortunately, not most people. For starters, she was heavier than she looked--hiding all that dense muscle beneath her layers of clothing--but even that didn't fully explain the weight. Like lead in her bones. But maybe her limbs just felt particularly unwieldy from all that whiskey. Right.
Turns out, she also did not take kindly to strange men grabbing her in the dark.
"Lemme--go--stay outta--what're you--doin' in my trailer--!" she yowled, louder this time, as she pulled against the stranger's arms. But wow, did she have a set of lungs. Much more of this, and she'd likely wake up the rest of the neighborhood. She shouted and twisted in his grip for only a second or two before she made it quite clear that she was not going to make this any easier. The moment she had room to think--and room to swing--Dahlia kicked one leg back, the heel of her thick work boot aimed straight at his shin.