slayer_fray: (attack)

It was a tough grab, but not unusually so. Case had sent Mel after a silver goblet, of all things. Didn't tell her who wanted it or why, or anything, just gave her an address in the uppers and let her deal with it. Which she does with virtually no problems, and heads back to their apartment where they've arranged to meet.

Case isn't alone when she gets in; he's talking to a buddy of his that Mel vaguely recognises. A pump: ruttin' ugly one at that, hair dyed a bright crimson, so marred by grease as to look like dried blood. He leers when Mel comes in, and she shoots him a dry smirk to show she's not happy to see him here. Especially as there's business needs to be done: it's dangerous to hang around with hot property too long.

"Mel, you know Turk," Case says, watching as the pump extends a hand the teenager refuses to take.

"What does he want?"

"I been tellin' him how good you are to me."


She recognises the look on his face when he glares at her. It means stop stepping in to save me in fights. It means stop being such a good grabber. It means stop making me look like a fool.

Bending down, he whispers in her ear. "C'mon, sweetheart, this is just another way you can earn yourself some money round here."

Mel stands up straight, watching the pump called Turk, who hasn't said anything and hasn't stopped watching her with that twisted grin on his scarred face.

"My grabbin's not enough for you?"

Case smiles. She's seen that expression too. It means oh, Mel, you have no idea how the world works, but I like you that much that I don't mind.

Mel rolls her eyes.

Case grins and slaps her on the behind. "Don't use the bed, OK? You wanna give me the grab so I can go get it paid for?"

From then, it seems to happen in slow motion. Mel reaches into her pocket the goblet is stashed in, but brings her hand out empty and balled into a fist. In one fluid motion, she reaches up and connects fist to Case's nose so hard and fast she can feel and hear the cartilege crunching under her knuckles. Case's face explodes into a mass of blood and he flies backwards against the brick wall.

There's a sickening crunch as his head connects and his still body slides to the floor, leaving a thick red trail behind it.

Apparently his friend hadn't had time to move, because he's still in the same place when Mel spins on the ball of her foot and kicks him equally hard. The look of anticipatory terror transforms to a grimace of agony as he crumples down.

That's the last time he'll be paying to rut with fourteen year old girls.

Stolen property burning a hole in her pocket, Mel strides out of the room.

slayer_fray: (fighting)
"Hey, kid."

Mel's seen him around; he comes to roughly the same tavs as her and Case, and occasionally she's seen him argue with her green haired man. Sometimes those arguments devolve into violence. It's tempting on these occasions to join in, but Case doesn't really like his teenage rutmate stepping in to handle his fights, as he mentioned fairly vocally the first couple of times.

Case isn't here now, though. He's off meeting with someone about something, and she's arranged to meet him and whoever here, in this tav. Presumably his absence that's why this other guy comes up to her. This guy's not quite as old as Case, but is bigger and heavier, rippling in muscles under his shirt. He could probably pick Mel up with one hand. Definitely could.

"What?" Mel looks up from the cup of sack she's been nursing, and eyes him suspiciously, utterly unintimidated by his attempts. Not her her lack of intimidation intimidates him - how is that supposed to work, anyway? He just leers at her from where he's standing, cupping his drink in both hands.

"You like workin' for Tassey? He treating you right?"

her? Mel's now looking at him across her own eyebrows, head tilted down. "What's it to you?"

He doesn't answer, not really looking at her, but directing his leering gaze at the wall behind her. "Ever thought about workin' for someon' else?" he asks. "I mean, how much do you charge?"

She's silent, annoyed, and waiting for him to say soemthing else or go away. Honestly, Case handles her pay, she just spends it. And saves some, in a pouch under the mattress she shares with him.

The stranger continues, "I mean, is the whorin' at the same rate as the thievin'? Or do I hafta go through him for that too?"

Mel's grinning too when she throws him across the bar.
slayer_fray: (nightmare)
Here's the trouble with sleeping with someone else.

When you wake up form another nightmare, when you're plummeting off the side of a building, watching your brother being murdered, when your screams bring you to the surface of sleep and leave you shaking in a cold sweat, then there's someone else there to see you so vulnerable. Someone else to know you're just a little girl. Someone else to loose respect for you.

It's not fair. She's used to being the one woken by her bedmate's nightmares, not the other way around.

Mel just curls up on her side of the mattress, trying to regulate her breathing and hoping Case didn't noticed. That's ruined when she hears an exasperated sigh, and he curls over to spoon her.

Jesu, she hates it when he does that. It's so constricting.

"You OK?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. "Yeah. Fine."

"You shuold do something about those dreams."


"Yeah. Listen, I know this guy can get you some stuff that'll knock you right out. Have you sleeping through."


"Hey, Mel?"

She's still groggy, face down in the moth eaten pillows, slayed out acorss the mattress while he gets dressed above her. They haven't quite worked out the dosage, yet, because the amount the pusher suggested barely affected her at all. "Mmmmmph?"

"I been thinking. You wanna earn more than the odd coi you grab off people and in cars?"

"Mmmmph." Sure.

Case hunkers down next to her, stroking her hair. "There's this grab I heard about. Nothing special, but the fences are talking about offering eighty coi for it. Trouble is, none of the pumps who're after it are small enough to fit in the vents. If you went down I'd get you about ten percent on it. For half an hour's work."

"Mmmmmph." Sure. She could use something else to do.
slayer_fray: (Haddyn)
Milliways is cheap. Milliways is warm. Milliways has people - person - that are closer to being called "friend" than anyone in Mel's entire life so far, with the exception of... well, he was more than friend

But Mel still has reasons to go to other tavs around Haddyn instead. Firstly that she's currently sleeping in a warren called Versi, a good hour's walk from the door to Milliways, but also because Milliways won't serve her alcohol, and there're never any good bar brawls. And Mel has discovered that the best way to deal, at least temporarily, with the pain of being Mel is to get drunk and fight people.

She's at a bench nursing a cup of sack; not drunk yet, but the night is young. Not that she necessarily needs to be drunk to fight, if there's reason, and there may well be: She's noticed that a guy by the bar keeps looking at her over his shoulder .

She's seen him before. A lot, actually. He comes here a lot, drinks, watches, fights if someone starts with him, rarely gets involved for the sake of it. She's no good at ages, really, so just lumps him into the category of "grown up". He's clean enough, but not rich, and in better shape than most people around here, except Mel herself. His grass green hair is pulled into a pony tail, and the mechanical fingers on his left hand tap lightly on the many rings hanging from his earlobe, every time he turns to look at her.

Annoyed by the attention when she wasn't even looking for it, Mel eventually settles just to glaring at him steadily until he comes over, looking entirely un threatening, and sits down opposite her.

"You're Mel, right?" His voice is smooth, practically friendly. Mel's suspicious at once.

"Yeah," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Who's asking?"

He smiles, extending a right hand that's missing a few nails but more or less intact. "Case Tassey. Hope you don't mind, the barman gave me your name."

The barman's jake enough, Mel thinks. No one's got anything against her. But she doesn't shake the hand. "Why?"

"Cause I asked for it," he says. "I've seen you around this last week or so, and I just wanted to say: well, I don't know what I wanted to say. I just wanted to talk to you."


"Because..." he hesitates. "'Cause I'm impressed, that's why. You're a rocketship fighter. One of the best I've seen. And people respect you, I've seen it. You got amazing self confidence for a gi... woman your age."

Mel leans back and smirks. "That's cause I am the best fighter around here," she says smugly.

"I don't doubt it." He nods at the cup in her hand. "You need a top up?"
slayer_fray: (scared)

She's not sure if she made the right decision.

She's not even sure if Makita made the right decision: if all those people who paid for the room ever decide they want something of the pretty little girl with the fierce look in her green eyes...

...well, then, Mel wonders if she should be around to make sure they don't. A thought which is summarily dismissed. It's toy. Mel can't protect anyone, she should know this. She couldn't even protect...

Makita can look after herself. Melaka can't handle what would happen if she fought for her and failed again.

But she's still not sure if she made the right decision.

Mel still hasn't found somewhere to sleep. She's worked out that she can eat as much  as she likes in the bar, and even take food back with her. The amount she grabs simply by picking her victim well more than pays for the food. So the rest of the solid is worn unobtrusively as she saves. But she's still sleeping where she drops: a reputation for being able to fight about anyone in the warrens means she rarely has to fight for a good spot, but she's not ready to try and break into a room. So she sleeps on her own on the streets

And when she awakes screaming in the night, fresh from a dream about her brother being murdered in front of her, when she's soaked through in cold miserable sweat, when she curls up in a foetal ball of quaking misery, sobbing into her knees as she longs for the days when it was her soothing him after a bad dream. When the only good thought she has to hold on to is the reassurance that everyone thinks she's strong and no one was around to see her like this...

...then she knows she belongs out here. On her own.

slayer_fray: (fighting)
There's a group of them, hanging around lazily, swigging from tins of sack, and laughing over the spoils of the night. About three or four, all with guns and knives, and with two rocketbikes between them.

They're big, heavy set men, starting on the road to pump, with drugs and some modifications. So imagine their surprise, when one of them finally spots the tiny little kid sliding his companion's gun out from its belt holster. She must have moved like a stealthbot, for them not to notice her.

"Hey!" he yells suddenly, pulling out his own gun. But the girl just grins, and bodily shoves the man she was stealing from into the blast. The loud cackle of discharged electricity suddenly cut short when he realises he's shooting his buddy.

The other two, hands on their own guns, wait for the mass of the unconscious body to crush this pup of a girl who can't be half his weight, but without even noticing, she's despatched the defender as well by throwing his victim heavily into him, knocking them to the ground instead of her. By the time one of them thinks to shoot, she's ducked under the beam, and lets the fourth thug take the beam. Then he himself screams in pain as she grabs his wrist and twists, forcing him to drop his own gun, and bringing him to his knees in pain.

By now the original shooter has struggled out from under an unconscious body and is ready to fire again, except a heavy kick to the knee results in a loud snap and send his beam up and wild as he also falls. The same foot snaps his arm back and sends the remaining gun flying.

And then this little tiny waif of a street brat is standing over them: two crippled, two unconscious, with one charged zapper in her hand, and the other hand clenching and unclenching excitedly. With a feral grin, she starts backing away.

"I'll kill you, you bitch." That was thug #3: the one with the broken wrist nursed across his chest, now standing, with a knife in his other hand.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow, then suddenly, with deadly accuracy and bone crunching force, punches out first one, then with a pivot, the other of the bikes' main Catcons. And by the time he's on his feet, she's racing down the alley with a speed not even he seems able to match.

slayer_fray: (attack)
"Hey, kid, you're in my spot."

Mel snorts loudly and rolls over, thinking, but not awake enough to say out loud: Go away, Erin, it's not morning yet.

The status of wake changes rather suddenly when she's bodily lifted out of the doorstep she'd made her bed by a large, muscular man, smeeling of smoke and sack.

"Kid. My spot. Don't make me hurt you."

Mel squints at him through sleep, blearily aware that the bum in the corner on the street is watching this, uninterested.

"My spot now," she says, hands on his arms. His wrists are too tick for her to fit her hands around, and her feet aren't touching the ground, but she liked that spot. It was large enough for her, sheltered from light and falling garbage, and that's' been the best night's sleep she's had since that weird bar. She's not about to give it up for this rutter.

"Don't be silly, kid," he says. "I don't want to hurt you," and then he tosses her aside, dropping her to the ground, "but I will if you don't scram. Unless you want to stay and keep me warm."

Mel lands heavily on her shoulder and scrambles to her feet quickly, scowling at him. He's already trying to make himself comfortable, but she interrupts him by kicking him hard in the hip. Hard enough to send him flying across the flyway and landing heavily on the ground.

"My spot," she says.

He laughs at the idea of the girl fighting him. But the laugh soon fades after his re-approach results in a bloody nose, a dislocated shoulder and more bruising than he wants to count yet.

And all because she hit him again.

He glares at her and runs away. Mel goes back to sleep.
slayer_fray: (passed out)

Suite 132 has been empty for a couple of months now: a 20 year old Mel was briefly in the bar, but she seemed to think she has another room. Now all there is is a fourteen year old lying on her side on the couch, drooling quietly onto the cushion.

Really, someone oughta roll her over so she doesn't drown.

slayer_fray: (betrayed)
She's nothing.

Well, that's that, then.

The doctors didn't say anything when Mel discharged herself. Why should they? She emptied her own cred account to pay part of the bill, and after a moment's thought, gave them Erin's cred number as well. Bitch can whine about it to herself, Mel doesn't care. They're done. Through.


She couldn't quite bring herself to go in to Harth's, even though she knows the number. It doesn't matter. Mel doesn't need that money. She's going to go on her own now. She's strong, she's fast, she can grab. She doesn't need her brother's money. She doesn't need her sister.

(God, she needs her brother.)

She left the hospital, and wandered out into the streets, a list of things-to-do in her head.

Something to eat, which doesn't take long, as soon she's running from a deli with a filled sub in her hand.

Somewhere to sleep takes longer than she expected. She had hoped to find an empty apartment, but apparently they're rarer than she looks. And soon she's running from door after door that had looked deserted but had someone guarding it jealously. Usually a few someones. Mel's back is beginning to ache: her breath is shorter than usual, and her heart hurts. She doens't want to fight. So she runs. And she swipes a coat against the cold, and she keeps looking.

Keeps looking.

She doesn't tire easily, but  for some reason she's spent so much of today running from people, that she find the desire to sleep anywhere getting greater than the desire to find a new home. Maybe she'll just have to sleep outside. If she can find somewhere warm, and dry.

Much longer and she won't be anywhere near as fussy.


slayer_fray: (Default)

March 2013

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