((Hello everyone, and welcome! If you would like to RP with me, please enjoy this lovely starter and reblog it with your character's response. If you are a personal blog, well, um...Tom will give you a high five.))
When Tom first started this debt collecting business, it occurred to him that not everyone enjoyed paying debts. Tom was familiar with the feeling. Hey, who was he to tell you what to do with your money, right? The anger and frustration were understandable.
What was not understandable was the tire iron. There had been absolutely no need for that. Tom sucked in a ragged breath, his hand clutching his side as he staggered against the alley wall. He was not going to be standing straight for a long time, he was sure of it. Then there was the matter of his glasses, of which one of the lenses had been cracked. Then there was the matter of his nose, which was a thick fountain of blood at this point. You know, he might as well save some time and just admit it: everything felt broken one way or the other.
At least he could almost reach the street by now.
Tom dragged himself to the mouth of the alley, leaning heavily on the wall. His right knee buckled and he stumbled onto the ground. This was as far as he went. At least, as far as he went without help.
A shadow crossed his blurry vision and blocked out the light of the street lamps. Who...?