black & blue
@adxsejun
she’s bitten by a wolfish pain, the kind sharp and searing, fingers hovering over a saw-tooth incision, gritting teeth && scowling threats in low tongue. still, not enough for her to begin slipping from reality, and nowhere near the point when her senses will dull into smudges and incoherence. she hears them, watching with strained eyes: men and their roughed up voices, brawn and nothing else, and the young initiate who had accompanied her on this business venture. unharmed, she hopes -- the last thing she needs is a whimpering, broken boy, if not dead one. at least for today.
the situation is simple for someone discerning enough to think: it is impossible to take them on successfully, not with her skill and their numbers, and neither has the proposal panned out -- with little room for further insistence. “fucker,” she breathes, careful to keep their eyes averted, hands which light up cigarettes like candlesticks. must she flee before their anger maximizes, having realized a tiger like herself would refuse to part without death or a deal? a choice not necessarily for her sake, but the soldier who eyes the bloodied knife with a sick sort of fear, the kind which leads to intrepid and often, reckless action. more than anything, she cannot afford to take responsibility for someone who’s murdered the wrong people at the wrong place.
six eyes glow, expectant, preying on any indication of aggressive intent. it’s a give & take business, after all, and she has everything to relinquish and near nothing to benefit. “let’s go --” a cutting statement, contradictory strength from the ruptures of pain which seem to radiate throughout her entire leg. the last of her boldness dissolves, and she’s pulling the young man along, around the corner and into the open streets before he does anything they’ll both regret. besides, their trouble will not end with cutting a girl; the tigers are known to be especially thorough when repaying debts. “scram out, kid, and go directly home. don’t even speak of this.”
it hurts, of course it does, like walking with a rotting limb and brittle bones, though likely nothing more than a muscle injury. if his aim was to temporarily cripple, she would not have left with only this. unpleasant and elongated minutes pass before she slips from a taxi into the lobby, inconspicuous as blood trickles into the dark fabric of her pants. if anything, it’s the metallic odor which would attract attention, but in the recesses of night, no witnesses stand to observe.
she’s peeling off jeans in exchange for shorts && ease of access once in the safety of her home; what had been painted messily with gore, pretentiously urgent, transpires to be a meager laceration barely five centimetres deep. her concerns lie more with bruises sprouting over her jaw, knuckles chafed && raw from personal hits -- to which bandaids and ointment will serve the only panacea. a knife wound, on the other hand... before she’s given time to inspect the area there’s an abrupt sound at the door, unsure, a presence she questions.
she has not been expecting visitors.
retying the cloth, irritation seeps through a previously bitter expression and soojin drags herself to the entrance, examining her guest through a monitor. a groan -- then hesitation. at last, easing the door open, her cautions keep much of her frame still in the shadows. “what do you want?”