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Week Twelve: Thursday
Who: Mikal & Alex.
Where: Sidewalk down the block from the Towers.
When: Late Night
What: Chance meeting.
Tonight had been a good night for Mikal. Work had been surprisingly rewarding, and she was damn near confident that she'd be able to pay the bills and afford a bit of the white stuff. It was always nice to know that not every fella in this town was cheap. But of course, in Mikal's line of work, that same thought also lead to the realization that more and more men were willing to pay out of pocket just to catch a glance at some naked girl they didn't know wriggling around to some trashy music. It seemed that every bit of positivity had some kind of tragic downside to it these days.
Like the man that had been following her for the last block or so, for example. It wasn't exactly uncommon to have some drunken sleeze lurk around outside to try his luck with the girls. Of course, most of them became disenchanted the moment they realized that, no, you didn't walk around with your clothes off all the time. But then there were those that pushed the creep factor to a new level. They were rare, but she supposed it was just one of those occupational hazards. You know, came with the territory and all.
She was doing her best to ignore it, subtley quickening her pace while she rummaged into the bag hanging by her hip for her cigarrettes. Her jacket, a simple back zip-up hoodie was slung over her left forearm, and when she finally managed to withdraw the pack of Malboro Reds she had to readjust it, slinging it over her shoulder instead so that her arm could be employed to better pack the cancer sticks instead. The smack of the cardboard box against her wrist seemed to echo; it was really rather late, and at the moment the road looked pretty much deserted. Late hours in a big city was also a hazard. She'd be sure to add it to the growing list.
Finally the Old Town Towers building came into view. Sighing in some relief, she did a slow jog the rest of the way to the stairs, pausing only briefly to pull a cig from the pack with her teeth. However, that seemed to be more than enough time for Creepy McCreepster to close the distance between them; she felt a hand on her arm just as the sole of her neon blue flat touched down on the first step leading up to the front doors. So close, and yet...
Whirling around to face her persuer, she knotted her brows and narrowed her eyes at him, jerking her arm roughly from his grasp. "Back off, asshole." An unintelligible slur was his response right before he lunged at her again, sending her off-balance so that the two stumbled away from the stairs. Adrenaline coursed through her as she found her back suddenly pressed into the wall, her heartrate accelerating with fear and anger; this guy was seriously going to do this right here!?
She groaned in disgust as the smell of his breath, a vile combination of alcohol and god-knows-what, invaded her senses but was immediately distracted when she felt one of his hands fumble clumsily for her. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Hey!" A scuffle ensued then, ending when a sound slap was delivered across her attackers face. This only served to anger him, apparently, because she felt his hand collide with her jaw a moment later, the cigarrette falling from between her lips, the taste of blood in its wake. This was not looking good.
Where: Sidewalk down the block from the Towers.
When: Late Night
What: Chance meeting.
Tonight had been a good night for Mikal. Work had been surprisingly rewarding, and she was damn near confident that she'd be able to pay the bills and afford a bit of the white stuff. It was always nice to know that not every fella in this town was cheap. But of course, in Mikal's line of work, that same thought also lead to the realization that more and more men were willing to pay out of pocket just to catch a glance at some naked girl they didn't know wriggling around to some trashy music. It seemed that every bit of positivity had some kind of tragic downside to it these days.
Like the man that had been following her for the last block or so, for example. It wasn't exactly uncommon to have some drunken sleeze lurk around outside to try his luck with the girls. Of course, most of them became disenchanted the moment they realized that, no, you didn't walk around with your clothes off all the time. But then there were those that pushed the creep factor to a new level. They were rare, but she supposed it was just one of those occupational hazards. You know, came with the territory and all.
She was doing her best to ignore it, subtley quickening her pace while she rummaged into the bag hanging by her hip for her cigarrettes. Her jacket, a simple back zip-up hoodie was slung over her left forearm, and when she finally managed to withdraw the pack of Malboro Reds she had to readjust it, slinging it over her shoulder instead so that her arm could be employed to better pack the cancer sticks instead. The smack of the cardboard box against her wrist seemed to echo; it was really rather late, and at the moment the road looked pretty much deserted. Late hours in a big city was also a hazard. She'd be sure to add it to the growing list.
Finally the Old Town Towers building came into view. Sighing in some relief, she did a slow jog the rest of the way to the stairs, pausing only briefly to pull a cig from the pack with her teeth. However, that seemed to be more than enough time for Creepy McCreepster to close the distance between them; she felt a hand on her arm just as the sole of her neon blue flat touched down on the first step leading up to the front doors. So close, and yet...
Whirling around to face her persuer, she knotted her brows and narrowed her eyes at him, jerking her arm roughly from his grasp. "Back off, asshole." An unintelligible slur was his response right before he lunged at her again, sending her off-balance so that the two stumbled away from the stairs. Adrenaline coursed through her as she found her back suddenly pressed into the wall, her heartrate accelerating with fear and anger; this guy was seriously going to do this right here!?
She groaned in disgust as the smell of his breath, a vile combination of alcohol and god-knows-what, invaded her senses but was immediately distracted when she felt one of his hands fumble clumsily for her. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Hey!" A scuffle ensued then, ending when a sound slap was delivered across her attackers face. This only served to anger him, apparently, because she felt his hand collide with her jaw a moment later, the cigarrette falling from between her lips, the taste of blood in its wake. This was not looking good.