The Dead RoseMature


The Dead Rose


Her booted foot slams into the man’s head, sending him reeling to the side, but still he refuses to fall, all that extra weight working to his advantage, and keeping him upright. She sighs, losing her patience and slashes the same foot outward, sweeping both of his feet out from under him. He falls to the ground with a thud, and she stands over the whale of a man, watching as he cowers, looking up at her. Shaking her head, she crouches down until she’s level with him.

        “Where’d all that confidence go, friend?” She asks, in her slightly accented way, tilting her head to the side. She had admired his resilience at the time, no matter how foolish it had been to display it. The man was lucky to be alive, lucky that he’d chosen to cross her when she was in a good mood. Today was a special one, after all.

        “Don’t … kill me …” He gasps out, a slight gurgling in his throat, and she wonders absently if she’s ruptured something. Not that it matters, particularly. As long as she receives what she’s come for …

        “Well, that’s entirely up to me, now isn’t it?” She replies, in the middle of cleaning her fingernails with a dagger. “You’ve given me a whole boat load of trouble … and I don’t like trouble.” A dumpster rattles, causing her to look over. Muscles bunching as she readies herself to face a possible threat. A cat jumps out of the thing, banana peel locked tightly in its jaws.

She shakes her head, looking back over at the man in front of her. The nauseating scents of the alleyway they were in, beginning to reach her, and she realizes that this would never have been a problem, if it weren’t for this overweight lowlife, sprawled on the ground before her. She contemplates killing him a second time.

        “Where’s my silver?” She asks, death being promised in her tone.

        “B-b-back pocket. P-p-please d-d-,” she kicks him in the gut, not even sure of the effect it has on him considering the loads of extra fat being stored there, among other places.

        “I don’t want to hear it,” She grits out. Dagger at his throat, she reaches over him, and finds the said back pocket. Reaching inside, she finds a large pouch. Pulling it out, she sits back on her heels, smiling devilishly. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Knife poised for the blow, someone calls out her name. Groaning, she turns to the source of this grand interruption.

        “What?” She calls back. One of her closest friends, Lorin, comes running around the corner of the alley. Her ponytailed, straight, long blonde hair, which hangs over her shoulder, bouncing lightly in the slight breeze that's picked up. Spotting Margaux, she trots to her side. Boarding axe slung over a shoulder. Despite the casualness of how her friend grips the weapon, Margaux knows first hand just how quickly and how skillfully Lorin can wield the axe with much harsher things in mind if provoked.

        “Well, get a move on,” she says, taking in the sight of the currently mewling man, and the placement of Margaux’s knife at his throat. “Your father’s pissed … this the man who hasn’t paid his debts to MaÎtress?”   

         Her dagger slices across the man’s throat with a quick flick of her wrist, “Was.” She says, standing up and wiping off the man’s blood on the lapels of her wool coat. “What’s he getting his panties in a twist about now?” She says, falling into step with Lorin, as they trek back to Minuit Dock.

        “You really shouldn’t talk about your dear ol’ dad like that, luv.” Lorin says, skipping around to face Margaux, walking backwards. Seeing as she doesn’t trip in the first few seconds, Margaux is impressed.

        “He just wants you back. You know what day it is, important for the whole crew.” Lorin says, “Word is, we’re heading towards that new hideout John-paul found last month, on Bleu?”

        Margaux nods, “Yes, I remember, I just wish MaÎtress wouldn’t make such a fuss about things …” Her eyes catch on a sign, hung on a wooden post, sticking straight up from the ground. Lorin looks over, and her eyes visibly widen.

        “Oh, this isn’t good.” Her friend whispers, walking over to the sign and tearing it down, Margaux’s legs having become immobile. “We need to show this to him … now.”

        “Let me see it.” She says, quietly. Lorin hands the notice over, and Margaux's eyes skim over it, her gaze glazed over. The sky thunders ominously, and she knows it foreshadows things to come, and the trouble the whole crew is about to come across. Trouble she’d cause. “We should hurry up and get this to MaÎtress.” Lorin looks over at her warily, before she nods, and they streak into the night, toward The Dead Rose.

The End

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