An (Almost) Proper Update
So! I have come out of a creative dry spell on a tear, writing about 10k words over the paat three days.
The bad news, for fans of Good Intentions, is that they've all been for my other project New Avalon Blues.
Right now I'm just riding the creative high and flowing wherever it takes me. I'll return to 1947 soon enough, but right now 1987 is bangin'.
Here's a short snippet (warning: it's the goriest scene I've written so far. If mention of blood and guts disturb you, then you should probably just scroll past the rest of this...
Also, the mysterious redhead is a confirmed RO if you're feeling paticularly bold. Strap in for a wild ride with that route.
You quickly line up a shot on the redhead, calculating that the trained professional is more dangerous than some mob goon with a shotgun. Time seems to slow as you focus on your target, aiming for the space right between her shining green eyes – right up until Malo swings his shotgun in your direction.
You duck below the swinging barrel of the weapon then are immediately deafened as it goes off right above your head. Despite the all-consuming ringing in your ears you spring into a flurry of action.
Dropping your pistol you first drive your fist into Malo’s gut, then follow up by wrenching the shotgun from his hands and smashing in his nose with the butt of the weapon. You can’t hear the crunch of cartilidge as his nose breaks, but you are treated to the sight of the bright plume of blood that accompanies it.Â
As he clutches his face you sidestep so that his body is between you and the redhead, fouling the shot that she was lining up on you. Racking your stolen shotgun you fire a blast that she avoids by throwing herself to the floor behind the sofa.Â
You then turn to Malo who is just now pulling his hands away from his bloody, broken nose. His eyes go wide for just a moment before you jab the shotgun into his gut and pull the trigger. The blast nearly tears him in two, showering the immedate area in an explosion of blood and viscera. You once again give silent thanks for your clinging shadows as the gore simply slides off of your slithering armor – the rest of this corner of the apartment looks like a particularly unsanitary abattoir right now.Â
Your hearing must be coming back a little because from behind the sofa you hear a brief retching noise, then the sound of someone spitting followed by a muttered, “Savior, right in my fucking mouth.”
Tossing the shotgun onto the scattered remains of Anthony Malo you retrieve your pistol and call out, “My job is done here. I’m willing to walk out of this apartment if you’ll agree not to shoot me in the back.”
The readhead rises from behind the couch, her clothes and face spattered with blood and other, squishier fragments of Anthony Malo. The streaked gore on her face makes her look like some predatory beast from a far earlier era as she fixes your with a piercing emerald gaze.Â
“You know, any other day I’d blow you away on general principle,” she replies. You both pause as the approaching whine of police sirens sounds from outside. “But right now I just want to take a hot shower and wash my client’s guts out of my hair.”Â
She tosses the big Magnum pistol onto the floor then says in an icy tone, “But the next time I see you, La Sombra, I’m putting you in the ground. Count on it.”
Her eyes flare with blue light as her body once again turns ghostly and insubstantial. Shooting one last glare in your direction she simply drops through the floor as if a trapdoor had been opened beneath her, vanishing from sight.
Savior, what a night. Time to get the hell out of here.
