[Someone's watching the proceedings from a rusty fire escape, blocked out in shadow like a noir comic. It's hard to make out his features, but he's small: thin shoulders, the stature of a young teen. He can hardly be much older than Damian, though the voice isn't that of a child. Nor is the scorn.]
Che. Pathetic.
[A shadow detaches from the other shadows and leaps to the ground. A girl with ribbons in her hair rises into a ready stance, gaze level behind her glasses. Live steel glints in her hand. A sword.
The crowd's between her and the child.
A trained fighter, one who can recognize the strength in her stance and the experience behind her eyes, might realize it is perhaps not the healthiest place for them to stand.
The speaker starts to descend the fire escape, metal clanging under his expensive shoes.]
And you. Kid. You gonna cower behind your old man's name your whole life? Pick fights from his shadow?
[He stops at the landing, putting one hand on the railing. Now his face is visible. One fierce, contemptuous eye. And in the other socket, a coiling dragon, mouth open in a snarl.
Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko tilts his head at a disdainful angle.]
You're a thousand years too early to be callin' people 'lackey,' brat. Especially when you're just letting these pissants kick the shit out of you.
You snot-nosed bastard, we oughta--!
[The instant the mobsters' violence turns from Li'l Matches to Kuzuryuu, the girl moves. She is swift, brutal, and horribly efficient, though she does not yet use the edge of her blade. Two men go down before the others register the threat, one cradling a broken jaw, the other gasping for breath after a blow to the solar plexus.
She returns to her ready stance, utterly impassive, as if this were a drill. As if they're not even there, for her.
Kuzuryuu scoffs.]
If Falcone's idea of an organization is you asswipes, then I feel sorry for him. Tell him this isn't how things are gonna work around here from now on.
[He starts down the rest of the stairs but stops to grin down at them humorlessly, an expression more like the bared fangs of the dragon he wears.]
Go on. Unless you want your asses wrecked by a couple'a snot-nosed bastards.
no subject
[Someone's watching the proceedings from a rusty fire escape, blocked out in shadow like a noir comic. It's hard to make out his features, but he's small: thin shoulders, the stature of a young teen. He can hardly be much older than Damian, though the voice isn't that of a child. Nor is the scorn.]
Che. Pathetic.
[A shadow detaches from the other shadows and leaps to the ground. A girl with ribbons in her hair rises into a ready stance, gaze level behind her glasses. Live steel glints in her hand. A sword.
The crowd's between her and the child.
A trained fighter, one who can recognize the strength in her stance and the experience behind her eyes, might realize it is perhaps not the healthiest place for them to stand.
The speaker starts to descend the fire escape, metal clanging under his expensive shoes.]
And you. Kid. You gonna cower behind your old man's name your whole life? Pick fights from his shadow?
[He stops at the landing, putting one hand on the railing. Now his face is visible. One fierce, contemptuous eye. And in the other socket, a coiling dragon, mouth open in a snarl.
Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko tilts his head at a disdainful angle.]
You're a thousand years too early to be callin' people 'lackey,' brat. Especially when you're just letting these pissants kick the shit out of you.
You snot-nosed bastard, we oughta--!
[The instant the mobsters' violence turns from Li'l Matches to Kuzuryuu, the girl moves. She is swift, brutal, and horribly efficient, though she does not yet use the edge of her blade. Two men go down before the others register the threat, one cradling a broken jaw, the other gasping for breath after a blow to the solar plexus.
She returns to her ready stance, utterly impassive, as if this were a drill. As if they're not even there, for her.
Kuzuryuu scoffs.]
If Falcone's idea of an organization is you asswipes, then I feel sorry for him. Tell him this isn't how things are gonna work around here from now on.
[He starts down the rest of the stairs but stops to grin down at them humorlessly, an expression more like the bared fangs of the dragon he wears.]
Go on. Unless you want your asses wrecked by a couple'a snot-nosed bastards.