Escape now and try to get home
From Create Your Own Story
| Line 1: | Line 1: | ||
| - | <i>What home?</i> You ponder, you have no place you can call home. There are only places to sleep, steal and hide from the authorities and gangs alike. Nevertheless, you can always just go back to lurking around your usual alleys. You don't appreciate being thrusted into an unfamiliar environment such as this. With a sigh, you turn around to leave and begin to walk down the stairs. Stepping off the final stair, you get the strange feeling that something's wrong. A sound? A smell? You dive to the ground and roll sideways, just as an object hits the ground where you were with a metallic clang. You strain to raise your head, and you find a woman walking resolutely towards you, knife in her right hand, a small mounted crossbow on her raised left wrist. She wears a tattered, sleeved cotton shirt and brown, leather trousers. | + | <i>What home?</i> You ponder, you have no place you can call home. There are only places to sleep, steal and hide from the authorities and gangs alike. Nevertheless, you can always just go back to lurking around your usual alleys. You don't appreciate being thrusted into an unfamiliar environment such as this. With a sigh, you turn around to leave and begin to walk down the stairs. Stepping off the final stair, you get the strange feeling that something's wrong. A sound? A smell? You dive to the ground and roll sideways, just as an object hits the ground where you were with a metallic clang. You strain to raise your head, and you find a woman walking resolutely towards you, knife in her right hand, a small mounted crossbow on her raised left wrist. She wears a tattered, sleeved cotton shirt and brown, leather trousers. As soon as she is within 5 metres, you roll onto your belly, lift yourself to your feet in one swift motion spin around and put all your weight into a punch to the jaw. An attack you favoured while living on the streets. She stumbles to the ground, and you hastily mount and restrain her to deter further assault. Your hands planted firmly on her forearms, one knee on her chest and the other on the ground next to her body. You put all your effort into keeping her arms restrained. |
"Well that fucking hurts." She whines, looking off to the side away from your accusing eyes. | "Well that fucking hurts." She whines, looking off to the side away from your accusing eyes. | ||
Revision as of 03:21, 24 September 2016
What home? You ponder, you have no place you can call home. There are only places to sleep, steal and hide from the authorities and gangs alike. Nevertheless, you can always just go back to lurking around your usual alleys. You don't appreciate being thrusted into an unfamiliar environment such as this. With a sigh, you turn around to leave and begin to walk down the stairs. Stepping off the final stair, you get the strange feeling that something's wrong. A sound? A smell? You dive to the ground and roll sideways, just as an object hits the ground where you were with a metallic clang. You strain to raise your head, and you find a woman walking resolutely towards you, knife in her right hand, a small mounted crossbow on her raised left wrist. She wears a tattered, sleeved cotton shirt and brown, leather trousers. As soon as she is within 5 metres, you roll onto your belly, lift yourself to your feet in one swift motion spin around and put all your weight into a punch to the jaw. An attack you favoured while living on the streets. She stumbles to the ground, and you hastily mount and restrain her to deter further assault. Your hands planted firmly on her forearms, one knee on her chest and the other on the ground next to her body. You put all your effort into keeping her arms restrained.
"Well that fucking hurts." She whines, looking off to the side away from your accusing eyes.
"Well, that's what you get for attacking me," you retort.
"You shouldn't have tried to leave." She says, turning her head to meet your eyes. “You travel all the way here, knock on the door and run away?”
Ignoring her query, you ask quite sternly, “you would rather me dead than gone?"
She sneers menacingly and says, "if I wanted you dead, you would be. The bolt was filled with a tranquilizing agent."
You ponder this for a moment in silence, what is she talking about?
"Which means?"
At that, her expression changes to that of irritation, "it wasn't going to kill you." Her breath fills your nose with the pungent odour of tobacco. You grimace momentarily, it reminds you of your father. You press down harder, the weight of your knee seems to hinder her ability to breathe. And she continues through ragged breaths, "knock you out for a while."
She couldn't have just said something? Called after you? You express this and she snorts, amused, "diplomacy isn't really my forte." You stare at her matter-of-fact expression, bemused. Is she stupid or just lazy? "I hope you'll remember that. Not everyone gets the chance to.” You assume she’s bluffing, but the way she looks at you makes you feel like it’s the truth. Those cold, brown eyes and tight, chapped lips.
"Now, if you could get off me, that would be nice." Her tone implies politeness but her face is taut and filled with impatience. You are not eager to see it turn to wrath. Or are you?
