luke henry ; robin (notjustsidekick) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-09-23 05:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, robin |
Who: Luke Robin and Eve
What: An interrupted robbery and an impromptu rescue
Where: A residential area in Seattle
When: One night... before this, this, and of course this (woo confusing timelines)
Warnings: Some violence, and swearing
The gap between buildings was more than a hop-skip-jump across a skid-mark of an alley on Seattle’s landscape; more than a trash-can and plastic garbage bags and the neon flare of a sign from a liquor store across the way. It signalled the end of one territory and began another, where the people did not sleep continually interrupted by the wail of sirens, where what was kept under lock and key were baubles and shiny bits and pieces to dangle from the body rather than guns in steel cabinets. It should have been harder, to fling herself across a divide composed of people’s dreams and jump into a world where life was mundane and composed of choice in ties and desktop paperwork and coming home to good smells and certainty. It was not; Eve’s feet didn’t even skid on rooftop tile, she landed with the peculiar certainty that was all hers and no one else’s and utterly silent. It looked effortless, it almost was. The muscles coiled beneath leather jacket and leather pants were tighter than usual, they barked protest at their use so shortly after a session in the dojo, but the inside of the Hamartia apartment had felt like an airless cage, a taunt that no amount of tequila could coat and coax and quell into nothing. She had no interest in picking up another faceless, nameless type tonight -- the itch that crept and wound itself beneath her skin until it snapped taut like puppet-strings was for outside and air and adrenaline that couldn’t be achieved by anything legal.
Her shoulder ached more than it should; Eve had learned the benefits of her ability long enough ago to know that if it ached now, it would bite more than a bad decision in the morning. She rolled it absently, one leather-gloved hand holding it in place as she sighted out the street below. It was quiet; a nice residential area where you paid for the security of knowing your neighbors as much as the property itself with those large wide windows a girl could wriggle through. A grin beneath the mask, one that couldn’t be seen so much as felt. People put too much faith in outer appearances, in what they believed to be so: people didn’t get robbed here so the cat burglar on the roof simply couldn’t exist, couldn’t palm the catch of the window through the hole she’d carved in glass, couldn’t be pawing through a stash of jewelry that cost more than a security system would to put into place. As for the owner -- if he was going to install mistresses in places like these, a mere block from his home and his wife and be so very careless with the set-up, he deserved to lose a little. Eve’s eyes glittered through the mask as she wriggled the catch up -- stiff with disuse and the soft puff of processed cool air against her cheek said why. No one needed to open a window in Seattle when you could afford to keep temperate otherwise. She hooked one long and slim leather-clad leg over the sill and ducked her head in.
Laying low was something that Luke wasn’t very good at, mainly because he was so used to being active at night that when he decided to take it easy for a while he just ended up feeling impatient and restless. Despite the increasing risks on the street, it wasn’t enough to keep him off them - especially not with Blytech’s grappling belt (which he supposed was his now) to help him get around far better than he’d been able to before. Tonight was no different; as soon as the sun vanished and darkness took over, he was in costume with his mask secured tightly over his eyes. He was out of his apartment and on Hamartia’s roof far faster than usual thanks to the belt, but he didn’t stay around his usual route for long. He was feeling a little bolder than usual, and decided to test his boundaries and move outside of his usual ‘zone’ for a bit - crime usually followed a pattern, but sometimes even criminals changed things up.
He caught sight of two suspicious-looking guys getting into a van, but after trailing it to a rather nice residential area it turned out that they were just unloading a sofa and a couple of tables (which, in his opinion, were kind of weird looking) that they’d apparently gotten from ‘a friend who was moving’. The possibility that they were lying was there, but honestly, he doubted it. The fact that he’d just wasted a good chunk of the night wasn’t lost on him, but he figured he might as well keep an eye out while he was still here - crime didn’t just happen in areas like Rainer Valley, after all. Even though it was dark, he’d become accustomed to forcing himself to notice things even in dim light, and happened to catch a blur of movement from his perch on a nearby roof. Once he got a little closer, Luke saw that the movement was actually a person sliding inside a window, which was undoubtedly not theirs - people didn’t dress in black and carve holes in their own windows in order to get inside. Recalling that he needed to work on his stealth, he moved as quietly as possible until he’d reached the same window, making a focused effort on keeping his movements careful and quiet. Once his feet hit the windowsill he dropped into a crouch, supported by both the grappling hook attached to his belt and by holding on to the edges of the window.
“I really don’t think you should be here.” He spoke up suddenly, but although his voice was calm and even, Luke was tense and ready to act if he needed to.
Her fingers paused on the dial: a delicate communication between woman and lock-tumblers, safes were temperamental in the way of women who threw wine in bars -- get it wrong and you lost sharply, suddenly, without knowing you were losing until that lost possible second. This was where ability ended and sharp mind began, and Eve knew when to pause rather than risk it. Besides -- the model was one she knew well enough to get open quickly when she had her full attention to give it. Intent had caused her an interruption, and Eve turned and her eyes glittered like glass, cold-bright beneath the mask -- she didn’t like interruptions and she didn’t like being caught unawares, either.
There was no light, nothing real in the room beyond the pencil-thin flashlight between her fingers, a thread of bright that played over the objects between the two silhouettes and was extinguished quickly with a flick of black-gloved hand. The skirl of traffic in the road beyond was a hum above that of the air-conditioning and expensive quiet -- the apartment felt empty in a way that was all absence rather than anything to acknowledge -- a lack of someone else. It didn’t afford sound, however. Even the most expensive of places had crack-thin walls and floors.
“You make a habit of peeking in on women unawares, pumpkin?” Her voice was soft, laughter-laden over something cool and hard, like silk thinly draping steel. She slid into a not-long learned posture, one from hours of being beaten down and getting back up, one that night-loving muscles curled into willingly. It was the sort easy to strike from, and harder to get hit from.
It wasn’t the wisest position to be in, perhaps, but at least it was one he could get out of quickly if the need arose. He was aware that it was dark, and beyond the small flashlight - which didn’t last long - there was no way of telling who the intruder was. He’d have to be extra careful with this one, and amidst the traffic and air-conditioner’s hum, the air seemed to be full of tension so thick it was palpable - on his end, at least. Every muscle in his body was tense, like coiled metal prepared to spring; but he wasn’t going to strike unless necessary. Fighting in the dark like this was something pretty new - maybe some night vision goggles wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
The sound of the woman’s voice sent a jolt of familiarity through him, and it took him a few moments to place it. Luke wasn’t too surprised, nor was he particularly disappointed in her. It wasn’t easy for a leopard to change its spots, if it was even possible at all. “Just women who are breaking into apartments that don’t belong to them.” He sighed, although his wariness and defensive position remained the same. “What’s the point of this, Eve? Why do you do it?”
The kid. Eve quite deliberately turned her back to the window, to the kid hanging there like a puppet whose strings were twisted and placed her hand back on the dial with a lover-like caress. A spin, the sound of tumblers knocking together in a jostle to find their place -- like a slot machine where if you were smart enough, you always won. The hand stilled on the safe, she turned her head to look at him and if eyes adjusted soon enough, he would have seen the curve of the mouth beneath the mask, a smile conspiratorial like a secret -- an induction.
“I think you’re a little fuzzy on how this works, babycakes,” another competent movement of the dial, and then a handful of very thin and shiny metal tools produced from a pocket in the jacket -- clearly the safe wasn’t giving it up as quickly as she’d like. “Something all sparkly inside,” she made a gesture to the safe, the kind of reveal, the ta-da of women in sparkly dresses on daytime television -- “Thief.” This last encompassed herself with a clink of the tools dangling from her hand. “It’s really that simple.” The light flickered back on, and Eve was a stark silhouette against the wall once again.
Luke frowned when she continued on as though he wasn’t even there, wishing - and not for the first time - that he was older. Bigger. More able to intimidate someone like Eve, instead of being someone she could turn her back on with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be easy for him to stop her. Yet he still didn’t move, waiting until his eyes had properly adjusted to the darkness enough to give him a feel for the apartment’s layout. Rushing in blindly, especially literally, had never worked in the past and it wouldn’t work now. His movements were slow enough to be careful, but not enough to make them overly obvious as the grappling hook was retracted to the belt around his waist, allowing him to slip into the apartment and get even footing.
“I know the mechanics of thieving.” He knew that Wren had faith in Eve, believed that she was a better person than she gave herself credit for; and in all honesty he didn’t want to fight her, but he wasn’t going to turn a blind eye either. “I just don’t see the point. Clearly there’s profit involved, and most things are about money - but do you steal because you want to, or because you need to?” He kept his distance while he talked, watching her silhouette for any sudden movements.
“You’ve come far enough,” Eve observed without turning, with the kind of hearing that was all ability and none of it human. The tumblers in the lock made a sweet sound as she coaxed them into place -- there was something damn beautiful about making something open up that wasn’t quite sure if it wanted to, shy and hesitant like a teenager in lipstick and heels for the first time. Philosophising aside -- there was a barely audible click as the tool hit the right spot and the door swung open -- Eve turned with a grin that was pure pleasure and self-adulation, tossed to the kid like a favor from a stage-act.
“No motive. In it for the pretty things, Boyscout.” Her voice was caramel warmed through, her fingers already finding the catch for the jewelry box that lay atop the other things in the safe -- Eve was sweetest when satisfied. A moment later and the light was turned onto the sort of stones that glowed rather than sparkled -- the man had taste, even when it came to mistresses’ jewels.
Luke slowed to a halt, more out of surprise that she could actually tell how close he was rather than in obedience to her observation. She wasn’t stopping and he knew he had to do something, or else she’d take what she came for and waltz right by like he wasn’t even there. There would be nothing more humiliating than that, to simply be ignored; even being beaten in a fight would be better. At least then there was an effort involved. Maybe if Wren were here she could talk her out of it somehow, but he didn’t quite have that kind of a way with words.
He sucked in his breath when he saw what the light was shining on, and he took a step forward. “Stop.” It was said with the sort of commanding tone that someone older and better experienced than himself would have used, and he pretended that he wasn’t just a teenager in a costume. Right now he was the only thing standing between Eve and jewels that weren’t hers - and despite the fact that she’d helped during their last encounter, he wasn’t going to stand aside. Maybe she’d be able to best him in a fight, but if he kept low and moved fast, maybe he’d have a chance.“Greed doesn’t justify a crime. If you want something pretty, go buy it like everyone else, or live without. It’s not a hard concept.”
If words were things, Robin’s struck as lightly as paper -- Eve looked up from the jewelry box, from the wealth within it that could buy several months of rent or pay a few backdated bills -- or win the kind of look from the fencer that was all admiration, the kind that warmed low and deep inside from being the goddamn best there was around. She looked at him as he stepped closer and assessed the way she’d spent well over a couple weeks painfully learning to do. Boyscout might have been a friend of Wren’s, but he was coming awfully close to being something other than a boring, pompous pain in the ass with rhetoric he had borrowed from someone whose costume fit a little better, didn’t glare quite so obviously in the beam of the flashlight -- Eve quite deliberately played it across his eyes a second and the necklace the next moment dangled carelessly from leather-covered fingertips. He was taller than she but not by much -- broader but then so were most men. He would be on the mend but still have a sore spot to hit -- cruel, to take advantage of information gleaned whilst temporarily playing white hat? She took quite a deliberate step forward, close enough for him to hear the leather creak and shift and settle, close enough to smell spice-scent and warm skin and sweat and Eve’s smile was as bright-glinting as the jewels themselves, and her laugh low and soft and throaty enough to make mocking him a joke between them.
“Going to stop me?” The necklace swung from her fingers; she was amused.
Luke knew he was probably trying her patience, but he didn’t care. He continued to inch closer, muscles tensed in preparation, and he never took his eyes off her shadowy form - the light from the flashlight made him squint, but he quickly blinked away the spots and tried to re-focus. She was practically toying with him and he didn’t like it; it was painfully obvious that she didn’t take him seriously. He didn’t trust her despite what Wren said, and the fact that she knew about his shoulder wasn’t very comforting. Although he stiffened when she stepped closer, he refused to move back and stood his ground instead.
“If I have to.” It was a firm assertion, and he meant every word of it.
“How?” It was arch, full of feigned disinterest and the necklace swung like a pendulum -- tick-tock, little boyscout -- as she looked past him to the window, calculating distance and the drop beyond, how much it would take, what it would take to simply get past him.
“Do you even know?” Another step closer, stealing his space the way she had lifted the jewelry, seemingly without effort, as if it were all a game. It probably was. In the dark, Eve’s breath fanned against his cheek; you could hear the smile rather than see it.
‘How’ was a very good question, and she clearly realized that it was more than likely that he didn’t know. What he did know was that he’d be a pathetic vigilante if he let a thief get past him, but the problem was that the likelihood of that happening was high. “However I have to.” Luke drew himself up to his full height, prepared to lunge if she decided to try to get past him.
His eyes narrowed as she moved closer, but still he didn’t make any move to attack. He had no idea what she was doing but it was getting more and more difficult to focus, so he swallowed heavily and took a step back, trying to both block the window and put some distance between them. “I’m not letting you leave with that jewelry, okay? I don’t think you get that.”
“And I’m not leaving without it,” she countered, and his step back was matched with a step forward; the laughter was rippling through speech now -- if this was his crime-fighting prowess, no wonder Wren was so concerned about him. Her hand settled atop his good shoulder, fingers curling lightly around -- her head tipped; mess of curls beneath the mask and a smile that was too changeable to be anything precise beside mocking.
“You need to move, Boyscout.” Her voice was soft, melted caramel and warm all the way through -- it sounded like a caress, with a bite of warning at the center like a kiss. Eve had been a tease for a very long time, it had uses. “Or I’m going to have to make you.”
“Then it seems we’ve come to a standstill.” Luke stood his ground once again, since every move he made would be countered by one of her own. He tensed when he felt her hand on his shoulder, aware that her grip could get a lot stronger without a moment’s notice. But that wasn’t enough to get him to back down - he didn’t like being mocked, and he wasn’t going to tolerate it and get out of the way like a kicked puppy.
He met her gaze with as much determination as he could muster, preparing himself for her attack - he could defend first, and then launch into an offensive. He really wished it didn’t have to go like this, but she wasn’t giving him any choice. “You can try, Eve.”
The hand on the shoulder had slid down to the forearm as he’d spoken, quite artlessly -- the way one might of attraction and of things said in dark places and with smiles like the one in the corner of her mouth. She leaned in close enough for the curls to drop against his face, for her lips to be against his ear -- necessary to twist his arm within her grasp painfully tight and push it up against his back -- her feet stepping around him, fluid as a dance, as hours’ worth of training had taught. “Sorry, Boyscout,” she sounded regretful, at his back.
Luke felt her hand sliding down his arm, his jaw tightening in the dark at such close proximity - and then there was a sudden flash of pain as she twisted his arm up against his back, but he’d been expecting something like that. He let his muscles relax, loosening his body as though he were giving in to defeat. “No, I don’t think you are.” He sighed, deciding that this was just one of those things he wouldn’t mention to Wren - he was all for giving people chances, but that didn’t involve letting them get away with stolen jewelry.
He was quietly trying to recall a move he’d seen demonstrated in one of his martial arts classes, and after a few seconds of silence, he snapped into action. Spreading his legs apart, he shifted the majority of his weight onto his right leg and bent slightly at the waist, just enough so that he could get a general idea of where she was behind him. “I am sorry for this, though. I didn’t want it to come to this.” The words had barely left his lips before he struck, lifting his left leg up and kicking back with enough force to get her to release his arm.
He’d telegraphed enough of what he was about to do to be prepared, but not enough to avoid it. Eve staggered; the grip on his arm was abruptly released -- her hand groped behind her for the wall as her breath expelled in a sudden gust. Robin hadn’t managed the solar plexus but he’d come close enough to make it hurt. Eve fell back and thanked several seriously painful sessions for learning how to fall -- her leg swung out neatly, caught his feet from beneath him and used the kid’s weight against him in a way she wouldn’t have managed a week or two before.
“You sound,” her breath was labored but not as much as it ought to be, “Like you’re in a bad movie, Boyscout. You ought to watch that.” She’d pushed herself up by her hands, pulled her feet up underneath her.
Luke’s primary goal had been to make her release his arm, and despite the lack of spontaneity in his attack it worked well enough. His triumphant grin didn’t last long, though; he’d barely managed to flex his fingers of the arm that had been twisted up when his feet lost their traction with the ground, and he went down despite a futile attempt to keep his balance. There was a muffled grunt in place of a pained noise, but at least his arm was free - he didn’t like being trapped like that.
“If I do, then it’s unintentional.” He got to his feet, aware that it would take a lot more than one kick to get Eve to relinquish her prize - if he could even manage that at all. “Just leave the stupid jewelry and I’ll get out of your way.”
From the ground, in the non-light, Eve’s eyes cat-glittered. She whirled, and this wasn’t the kind of fighting that came with telegraph movements and clean hitting, the kind you learned in places they bowed beforehand and they bowed after. There was no respect in this -- a volley of punches that came too quick to be neat, a kick. It was all movement, all hope rather than calculation, to drive the kid back into the room and give a minute or two’s breather to jump out and clean beyond.
Luke didn’t waste any time, rushing at her when she whirled, fueled by annoyance and frustration. She fought like a lot of the people on the street did but worse, veering away from professionally trained moves that he’d learned and opting for a more dirty style of fighting. He was fast, but not fast enough to block her series of expertly delivered blows. All he was aware of was the sensation of fists against flesh, but for every blow felt he responded with one of his own - maybe it was sloppy, but it was the only thing he could do.
The kick was the one that he miscalculated, wincing and buckling just enough to give her a chance to slip by and out the open window - but he was stubborn, and there was no chance that he wasn’t going to follow.
A glancing hit and Eve felt the too-tired muscles jangle angrily in her side, Boyscout might not know half of what he was doing, but he had the power of being bigger, heavier behind his volley of hits. She took the opening, folded herself through the still half-open window and out into cold dark air and the distant neon of street-sign across from the building -- time to run, rather than waste time with a kid. She jumped, throwing herself toward the twisted iron rope of the fire-escape to the side and above, aiming for the platform -- and then a high and definitely feminine scream from below. Someone hadn’t caught the memo about this area going upmarket. A longing glance across at the platform as she hung there for a moment, using the last stretch of inhuman capabilities and a look down -- streetlamps picked out a streak of blond hair, a cluster surrounding it, she heard the muffled sound of a sob and the dull clang of metal garbage can against brickwork. Leaving it to the kid wasn’t an option -- with a sigh, and that necklace still wrapped around her wrist -- a girl wasn’t leaving the spoils of the night behind with a momentary white-hat stint, Eve simply dropped from a height higher than ought be possible. She twisted, flexed in the air and landed silent-soft behind the group in the kind of stance that was nonchalance rather than fighting.
Luke was definitely frustrated now, but he attempted to keep it from allowing him to become too impulsive - because that would only lead to mistakes, and if he wanted to catch Eve then he couldn’t allow any more slip ups. He crouched on the ledge, using his grappling belt to leap after her, counting on adrenaline and practice to make it work. It was once he’d caught hold of the fire escape’s iron bars - just below where she’d managed to reach - that he heard the scream, his attention immediately diverted from his original task. If it was a choice between Eve and an innocent victim in peril, he’d choose the latter. Surprisingly enough the situation seemed to have stuck some sort of chord within Eve herself, probably the ‘goodness’ that Wren believed she had, and he watched in fascination as she leapt and landed behind the group with a sort of ease and flexibility that shouldn’t have been possible.
He followed a moment after, although he used the belt around his waist to propel to the ground a few feet diagonally from the woman he’d been chasing mere moments ago. Although it made him feel slightly inferior doing it, he immediately sought out the weakest-looking member of the brutish group, making eye contact in order to lure him away from the group before lunging forward to attack before he could get a fist up. Eve, he was sure, could handle herself just fine.
A kick of adrenaline, sweet-sharp sliding into the blood like a hit to a junkie, like a lover’s chilly lips to the nape of the neck and the world became a kaleidoscope in darkness, shadows stark against the asphalt as if the sky was lit up like midday. The woman, blond the way of bottles and bathrooms, hunched against the trash-cans -- Eve ignored her, fought as if it were a song, with each connect the sound of meaty flesh-against-flesh, dull pain and the jangle of a belt-buckle done up at speed, a flurry of movement that was ugly and macabre and beautiful at once. It was unprincipled, the only kind of fighting this world knew, where you fought until you couldn’t get up, and then you climbed to your feet and spat the blood until it frothed red beneath the amber shards of streetlamp-light and you carried on again. It was a joyous rampage -- a coiled up howl of being contained and she didn’t notice the split skin above her eyebrow until blood stung her sight, didn’t notice that her side pulsed heavily like a heartbeat where a punch had hit past her defense -- one man was down against his knees like a plea and a snap kick that was all dojo and training and clean lines and ‘showing off’ and he sank against the sidewalk as though collapsing into sleep.
Luke finally had somewhere to direct all his frustration, both left over from his encounter with Eve and stemming from the fact that there seemed to be so many disgusting people willing to prey on the innocent. He’d learned to use his smaller stature (in comparison to many of the thugs he fought) to his advantage, ducking and weaving the blows until he found an opening to retaliate with one of his own. Although he didn’t quite fight like Eve, he wasn’t exactly a clean fighter either. He recognized that this wasn’t a proper fight, and adapting was necessary. He aimed his blows low first, wearing the man down before going for an upper kick to his jaw - which still hurt when he stretched his leg that much - and managed to send him slumping against the wall in unconsciousness. He’d sustained a rather nasty hit to his (thankfully good) shoulder, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage. That was one man down on his end, another clearly taken care of by Eve - not bad, even though he hadn’t forgotten the jewelry she still held.
The necklace still swung and spun and twiddled in the lamp light like a child’s treasure trove, sparkling like laughter from her wrist as the silhouette that was a woman kept on as though she would do so forever. It wasn’t so -- tiredness blanketed her, slowed the adrenaline’s work to sluggish control over muscles now refusing to work quite so well. The third compadre (it took three men to rape one whimpering little girl? Eve’s cursory look: not so little but whimpering and tugging down at a skirt that was all sex and the kind of cheapness that made suggestions about alleyways - especially when you made further suggestions after their idea wasn’t for playing nicely -- her garish pink lipstick stained the cheek of the guy now lying with his other cheek in a puddle) came toward her and now it took effort to keep up the volley when control was so far beyond. It was luck and a few fucking deities smiling to keep the punches coming -- a kick that connected against her ribs and Eve staggered, no grace borrowed from night and from ability, and he followed it up with a determination that was having seen his buddies go down and that belt buckle clatter against the street-side. She fell -- and steel-toed boots made nice and friendly with her side, got cuddly before she had to part them (so sorry ‘bout that) Getting up was all spit and screaming muscles that said ‘stay down’ as well as they could put it -- sweeping his feet out from under him worked too, and she drove a fist into his face before he could think about anything else. And then she stayed there, in that crouch because it wasn’t certain if she could get up just yet, and she wasn’t going to risk trying and failing in front of the kid. God forbid, he might try and help.
He’d eyed the third man himself, but the girl was whimpering and he could imagine quite well what would have happened if they hadn’t been there to intervene. Yet still he hesitated, at least until the man moved towards Eve and it was clear that if he got in the middle things would get even uglier. Instead Luke approached the girl slowly, holding his gloved hands palm-up to show that he was weaponless and didn’t mean any harm. Upon closer inspection she didn’t look so young and her clothing wasn’t exactly innocent, but that still didn’t mean she’d deserved what almost happened to her. She eyed him warily, but as she took in the costume and the mask something must have registered because she didn’t try to lash out. He kept a fair bit of distance between them but still crouched at her side, ensuring that she was unhurt and gently advising her to ‘be more careful next time’. Then his attention was diverted to the fight, and he watched in dismay as he saw the man’s boot connect with Eve’s side; he’d almost managed to shift in preparation to help until she swept his feet out from under him and finished it with a blow to the face. Pushing himself up from his crouch and returning to full height, he kept near the girl while eyeing Eve with wariness mingled with slight concern. “Are you okay?”
Half the street seemed to have found its way into her skin. The jacket had shredded a little at the elbows, the leather splitting to show a defensive material on the inside that wasn’t kevlar (kevlar wouldn’t show aging the way this did) and the pants were dead to a point where she’d mourn them with half a bottle of tequila and a full bottle of TCP to clean out where they’d done nothing to defend her against the sidewalk and dirt. But Eve was up now, and the gloves were being eased off with care and a wince that was very small and very slight and could be assumed at by the way the material seemed reluctant to part ways with split knuckles and drying blood. Alas, poor equipment, knew you well, et-shitting-cetera -- a small humorless laugh at a private joke that involved a bank account with more zeroes than she’d seen the terminals flash at her when she needed to pay rent. ‘Okay’? She’d be dandy. She eased her arms above her head -- moonpale strip of white skin above the pants and below the jacket and a flash of already angry and purpling bruise against her side, but spine went crick-crack and eased itself into mild grouching rather than screaming and Eve let her arms drop and swing, and shook out her shoulders -- bad plan. Still, a grin for the boyscout (the necklace had found a pocket now and was out of the way) and then a look for the gal in her bandage skirt and smeared pink lipstick that went beyond irritation.
“Be just fine, babycakes, if fucking idiots like that one realized walking into alleys of a dark night is really fucking stupid.” The eye-roll was in the voice, grating irritation with artificial sweetness weaving in between. It sounded like annoyance. The husky, ‘do-me’, cigarettes-and-hard-drink voice that could curl like smoke when Eve was flirtatious, was pitched lower. If you knew her, it sounded like she was hurt. She made it flippant, to the point.
“If you’re planning on walking around looking like you charge by the hour, buy a can of fucking Mace and don’t go into dark places with three men at once, it’s a real bad idea,” bright, delivered the way of children’s show-hosts, the way you spoke to retards, with annoyance snapping at its heels. “Boyscout here will take you home.” And get him the hell out of the way because she wasn’t going to be moving quickly at all.
It was clear that she had to be in a decent amount of pain, even if she didn’t show it; and for that show of sheer will he couldn’t help but have a grudging admiration for her, despite everything else. Oh, Luke hadn’t forgotten the necklace by a long shot, but he didn’t feel right attacking her when she’d already been roughed up - and besides, there was the girl to think about. He needed to get her out of here. It was frustrating beyond belief, but he told himself that circumstances were out of his control and next time he’d make sure she didn’t get away. He glanced at the blonde instinctively, watching her expression as Eve basically called her stupid, and despite the blunt harshness he had to admit it was true. Didn’t she have any sense of self-preservation at all?
Luke nodded, shooting Eve a look before turning his attention to the girl. “Come on. You should get out of here.” He extended a hand to help her up, reluctantly giving the other woman an out to leave. There was always next time, after all.
It took until he’d hustled the woman away before Eve made for the rooftops -- less of a glorious lap of victory this time -- but the purpose of the night had been met, and when you could sink the rest of it in liquor strong enough to soak a dock-worker, what more was there?