Anne Bonney (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} foughtlikeaman) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} utr_logs,@ 2009-03-22 23:28:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Where: lolFlorida, Anne's house.
When: Sunday evening.
Warnings: Anne's a pirate, they're Purifiers, yeah, it's kind of bloody.
Anne had been watching the boards, as well as the news, and finding that everyone she had any reason to worry about was present and accounted for, she figured she’d just lay low for a while, unless the whole thing showed no signs of blowing over.
She was cleaning up the day’s dishes and bobbing along to The Doors piping out of the surround sound in the main room when she caught the momentary flash of headlights at the top of the drive. Her brow furrowed, more puzzled when they were switched off just as suddenly as she’d seen them.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had unexpected visitors, but usually they didn’t bother pretending they weren’t even there.
She finished scrubbing the cast iron skillet, setting it on the stove over low heat to dry it as she moved to put the plates away, listening for any sound outside, finally hearing an attempt at walking quietly along the quartz-gravel walkway. Her brow creased again, counting three at least and probably more.
She sighed, shaking her head, if it was a run-of-the-mill burglary they’d soon learn the error of their ways. So would anyone else, really.
She winced as the front door was kicked open, moving smoothly and using the dishtowel in her hands as insulation, picking up the skillet off the stovetop and swinging it around in a low, strong, arc at chest-height in the doorway, feeling the clang of metal on metal more than she heard it when the pan met with the point man’s gun. She twisted, changing the angle and swinging the still-hot skillet up into his face, laughing inwardly when the song on the stereo changed over.
Once she felt the crunch of bone, heard the man’s scream, she let go of the pan, diving over the breakfast bar and into the main room as Jim Morrison sang: “Five to one, baby, one in five, no one here gets out alive now…” She had the rapier she kept over the mantelpiece in hand before the rest of them figured out what had happened and where she’d gone.
Even after all these years she hadn’t forgotten swordplay, or the difference in movement from the deck of a ship at sea to dry land, standing ready as the remaining three, no, four, got themselves sorted out. Two of them had handguns, and one of the others had something larger, tranquilizers, she figured.
She grinned, backing herself towards the stairs, making quick work of the first one to charge her, swinging down sharply with the edge of the blade, catching his gun-arm at the wrist, just above the edge of the body armor, twisting her grasp so that she could use the flat of the blade to smack the gun away, following the upward movement through to take him under the chin with the blade, cursing and using him as a meat-shield when the other gunman opened fire.
She caught hold of her shield’s shirt with her free hand, hauling the body partway up the stairs with her as she continued to retreat, only letting him go when she could reach the landing above, plucking down the blunderbuss she kept there, still loaded with buckshot and crushed quartz, she brought her sword arm up to steady her gun arm, unloading the full blast into the other gunman’s face and chest, smiling grimly as he went down with a sharp cry and a wet gurgle.
That left the one with the elephant gun, since the other one (who she assumed was the driver) had already turned tail at the gunshots.
She smiled at the one left standing, “The hell are you boys here for?”
“You. Anne Bonney.”
She scoffed, shaking her head, “Whatever ransom you think you’re getting ain’t worth it.”
“No ransom, we’re taking all the abominations like you…” She didn’t let him finish, hurling the empty gun at him and surging forward while he was distracted, bearing him to the floor with the charge, snarling wordlessly as she pummeled his face until she felt something snap, fairly sure it was one of her own fingers.
She heaved herself to her feet, picking up the tranquilizer gun and following the last one outside. He was already sitting in the van they’d come in, not even having time to register that she was coming for him before she’d shot him with the gun’s entire contents, all six darts.
After that it was just the tedious heavy lifting, hauling them all out of the house and into the van before simply driving it off the pier, scooting herself out the driver’s side window and swimming hard, hoisting herself up onto the weathered planks, watching until the bubbles stopped rising and the water settled into its usual rippling once more.