younger and younger, the little toy soldiers get to be. ( this game is no longer fun anymore. )
HER COMPASSION MUST BE NIPPED IN THE BUD. what is considered a virtue to the ordinary citizen is recognized with disdain in the leagues she is associated with ; this vice of hers is proving to be problematic, her own youthful endeavor is no longer a sufficient excuse. she has overheard the frustrations of her patriarch, cursing reckless parenting in allowing her the company of low - tier bodyguards for company ( as though that is the aspect in need of criticism when it comes to faulty parenting ) because it is through them, she learned to soften what should otherwise be a hardened, blackened heart by now.
( here’s the thing: there had been no initial hesitation. that, from her perspective, would be an issue. she’d fought back a BAT that’d been spotted mid - deal by the docks. she’d shouted out orders to her men to gun down a BAT. same ol’ same ol’, says her old man. they come in new numbers and new colorful capes. a BAT was a BAT. and the only thing she’d cared to note at that time was this was a new one. )
LIKE A VICTORIOUS CHILD WITH A SLINGSHOT TO A NEST. she’d knocked off the target precisely as intended. sure, just a graze wound here or there. but enough to do damage, knock this one of its’ feet. now came the matter of dealing with ‘em. and so she sighs beside herself, as though a maid coming to deal with a tiresome mess for the umpteenth time. her daddy would be monologuing or something, she supposes, maybe whistling a jovial mode to contrast the morbidity of the setting. well, the thing is, she still lacks creativity in that department. or really, initiative, for that matter. ‘cause maybe it’s just her, but wasting one’s breath even on their own enjoyment, is nothing but offering up the enemy an opportunity on a silver platter. so she gets upclose and personal to get a gander at this newbie and ----
𝘖𝘓𝘋 𝘌𝘕𝘖𝘜𝘎𝘏 𝘛𝘖 𝘉𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘚𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙.
( theoretically speaking ; said sister may exist out there, in the form of some unfortunate unclaimed product with sionis blood in her. frankly, she’s probably better off, and mel doesn’t like stiff competition anyways. )
❛ shit. ❜ she says aloud, beside herself. feels like she’s gonna double over in shock. ain’t like she’s ever been exposed to violence before, of course. but seeing a fuckin’ kid younger than she was when she started running around being a hooligan with a switchblade and big mouth takes her back, but this isn’t a nostalgia trip. ❛ shit. shit. shit. holy shit -- holy shit. yer a fuckin’ kid, what the fuck. what the fuck? ❜
MASK OR NO MASK. that costume ain’t foolin’ anybody. specially not the likes of her. mel remembers fondly a time of trying to pull an act of dressing older than what she actually was and it did damn no difference. she’s grazed this kid, it’s not gonna be fatal -- well, it could be, if they were living in medieval times and nobody washed their goddamn hands at all -- but she’s just unofficially broken an unconscious rule set for herself, one she’s wisely reserved for her own conscience and never shared with her father. she’s never seen a necessity for violence against a kid, never. back in the days when she was a feisty shit swinging on others her size? that doesn’t count. those were even, fair fights in school yards and shit. this is different, this is wrong. why’s this the smallest goddamn bat she’s ever seen? are the bats running in short fucking supply these days?
it’s pure luck that she carries bandages on her. it’s common sense, really. she doesn’t even think on the decision, she acts right away like she’s some kind of emergency response team. and she knows that by putting herself out there, by acting out on this, theres’s a risk: she’s due for retribution. could get her ass kicked if this kid pulls some kind of crouching tiger hidden dragon surprise attack or whatever fancy shmancy moves she knows. so what? at least she’ll be able to live with herself.
❛ lookie ‘ere, yer shoulder’s clipped. i don’t got any miracle pain pills on me and i ain’t no doctor -- uh sorry by the way, not just fer that but fer this. y’know, everything here -- y’gotta lemme stop the bleedin’ anyways. i know, i know. lettin’ the fella that shot ya patch ya up is kinda fucked up, we’re not on the same side, ‘what’s my deal?’ consider this free of charge. i’ll get ya mcdonald’s afterwards or somethin’ too, i dunno. ❜
catching any of that which was spoken at lightning fast speed is something of an extreme sport in itself. but the reckless spilling of hastily made apologies is made up on the account that she handles the wound itself with practiced ease. after all, she’s had to do this to herself so many times before. this is nothing new.
( yeah, that doesn’t even begin to cut it. )
