"You're joking, right? Sweets, darling, tell me this is a prank and you've got some scary brutes in the back room. He's a child, Sweets! No matter how dashing he looks in bandanna and leathers, I need something a bit more.... impressive."
Before the fixer could respond a woman's shriek turned every head in the bar. All heads save one turned towards the sound, and that one, having spent hours training for the bodyguarding assignment under the tutelage of no less than the legendary Blue Max, turned in the opposite direction. That head, belonging as it did to the unimpressive teenager in question, not only saw the waitress pull her dagger, but reacted in an eyeblink.
Recognizing that the would-be assassin might potentially be chipped to inhuman speeds, Sticks pulled the ASP collapsing baton from his pocket and with a flick of his wrist extended the telescoping tube to its full 28 inch length. With a quick backhand throw he sent the baton whizzing into the waitress' head before she could close on his potential principal's back. A second ASP snaked out to striking length in his left hand before the first reached its target.
"FUCK!" the ballerina exclaimed as the steel rod rapped her cheek. Forward momentum checked, she cursed again as she looked for the cause of her pain only to see the teenager in the bandanna flash between her and her target. Bitterly frustrated that such an easy hit had been fragged, she slashed at the kid in front of her.
Sticks began moving at almost the same instant the assassin launched her attack. Pivoting on his right foot, the Escrimador's baton struck the knife wielder's wrist. As the scaphotrapezoidal and radioscaphoid joints separated from the blunt force trauma, the assassin's shriek of pain preceded the blade's clatter on the floor by microseconds. Continuing his turn, Sticks dropped into a low spinning back kick which caught the "waitress" behind the legs and swept her off her feet. The baton flashed out again to strike the downed attacker in the head, rendering her unconscious as Sticks sprang back to his feet.
Monster, dimly realizing that his own meal ticket was exposed, lumbered forward with some vague idea of protection. Sticks, unfortunately, could not guess at the grotesque's motivation, and moved to intercept. To Sweets dismay, he watched as the teenager delivered blurringly fast forehand and backhand baton strikes to Monster's collarbones and followed them with an overhand smash to the grotesque's left knee.
"Hey" Monster's oddly high voice squeaked with indignation. Whatever pithy bon mot the steroid nightmare was about to deliver was lost as the dinosaur-like delayed synaptic messages of shattering pain finally arrived at his tiny brain and overloaded that woefully underdeveloped organ, causing the grotesque to drop to the floor unconscious.
Seeing Monster drop had absolutely zero emotional content for Billie. She literally could not have cared less about the grotesque's plight, but, she grinned ferally as it did give her all the excuse she needed to turn the teenager into hamburger. The *snick* of her cyberclaws as they extended from the backs of her hands might not have been audible above the hubbub but Falstaff heard it. Before she could move a muscle, his sibilant voice stopped her in her tracks.
"No. Not him. There." Following the fatman's gesture, the sociopathic minimus saw that the mage was magically wrestling with a gaunt woman who was attempting to point a walking stick at her boss' table. She shouted "GUN!" (per her contractual obligation to Sweets) and launched herself at the skeletal figure which continued dancing with its invisible partner.
Sweets, a veteran of the shadow world, had already begun his voyage to under-the-table land when he heard Billie shout. He clearly understood that the "assassination attempt show", though fascinating in the extreme, demanded far too high a price of admission. Wisely choosing survival to entertainment, he ducked as fast as he was able.
The same could not be said for the well dressed corporate Johnson. Under the delusion that her corporate affiliation somehow provided a violence-proof shield, she kept trying to see everything that was happening instead of avoiding behaviors that read "Kill me now, please". This ooh-what's-happening attitude was curtailed when Sticks shoved her down under the booth's table.
Because of the Escrimador's rough handling the Johnson missed the brief battle between the second assassin and Billie Blades. She did not see the three red stripes that Billie's claw made across the thin woman's torso. She heard Billie's "oof" as the shrieker fired an improbably long legged kick into the smaller woman's breadbasket. She did not see the single-minded assassin raise the blowgun to her lips, nor did she see the look of shock and dismay on that worthy's too thin face when Falstaff's spell knocked the toxin laden dart back into her mouth. Of course, the gulp, strangled hacking and death rattle were audible, but mercifully brief.
"Good moves" she said with typical brevity. Justifying the suspicion her long time patrons held that the bar was wired, Mama continued "Saw you get it right from the start. Not too shabby. Who's trainin ya?"
"Max" the teenager responded.
Raising an eyebrow Mama acknowledged that she was impressed. "Learn from the best. Keep you alive." With a final nod she began moving past the teenager but stopped to quietly add "You tell the Blue dwarf to stop by sometime. I'd love to see him again." Sticks dipped his head in acknowledgment.
"Not bad, Sweets." The Dwarf woman said in passing. "The muscle is all show, the she-bitch is rabid and your mage slept through the start of the attack, but the kid..... well, the kid is something special. What you've got there is a diamond, Sweets. Don't drop it."
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
Before the fixer could respond a woman's shriek turned every head in the bar. All heads save one turned towards the sound, and that one, having spent hours training for the bodyguarding assignment under the tutelage of no less than the legendary Blue Max, turned in the opposite direction. That head, belonging as it did to the unimpressive teenager in question, not only saw the waitress pull her dagger, but reacted in an eyeblink.
Recognizing that the would-be assassin might potentially be chipped to inhuman speeds, Sticks pulled the ASP collapsing baton from his pocket and with a flick of his wrist extended the telescoping tube to its full 28 inch length. With a quick backhand throw he sent the baton whizzing into the waitress' head before she could close on his potential principal's back. A second ASP snaked out to striking length in his left hand before the first reached its target.
"FUCK!" the ballerina exclaimed as the steel rod rapped her cheek. Forward momentum checked, she cursed again as she looked for the cause of her pain only to see the teenager in the bandanna flash between her and her target. Bitterly frustrated that such an easy hit had been fragged, she slashed at the kid in front of her.
Sticks began moving at almost the same instant the assassin launched her attack. Pivoting on his right foot, the Escrimador's baton struck the knife wielder's wrist. As the scaphotrapezoidal and radioscaphoid joints separated from the blunt force trauma, the assassin's shriek of pain preceded the blade's clatter on the floor by microseconds. Continuing his turn, Sticks dropped into a low spinning back kick which caught the "waitress" behind the legs and swept her off her feet. The baton flashed out again to strike the downed attacker in the head, rendering her unconscious as Sticks sprang back to his feet.
Monster, dimly realizing that his own meal ticket was exposed, lumbered forward with some vague idea of protection. Sticks, unfortunately, could not guess at the grotesque's motivation, and moved to intercept. To Sweets dismay, he watched as the teenager delivered blurringly fast forehand and backhand baton strikes to Monster's collarbones and followed them with an overhand smash to the grotesque's left knee.
"Hey" Monster's oddly high voice squeaked with indignation. Whatever pithy bon mot the steroid nightmare was about to deliver was lost as the dinosaur-like delayed synaptic messages of shattering pain finally arrived at his tiny brain and overloaded that woefully underdeveloped organ, causing the grotesque to drop to the floor unconscious.
Seeing Monster drop had absolutely zero emotional content for Billie. She literally could not have cared less about the grotesque's plight, but, she grinned ferally as it did give her all the excuse she needed to turn the teenager into hamburger. The *snick* of her cyberclaws as they extended from the backs of her hands might not have been audible above the hubbub but Falstaff heard it. Before she could move a muscle, his sibilant voice stopped her in her tracks.
"No. Not him. There." Following the fatman's gesture, the sociopathic minimus saw that the mage was magically wrestling with a gaunt woman who was attempting to point a walking stick at her boss' table. She shouted "GUN!" (per her contractual obligation to Sweets) and launched herself at the skeletal figure which continued dancing with its invisible partner.
Sweets, a veteran of the shadow world, had already begun his voyage to under-the-table land when he heard Billie shout. He clearly understood that the "assassination attempt show", though fascinating in the extreme, demanded far too high a price of admission. Wisely choosing survival to entertainment, he ducked as fast as he was able.
The same could not be said for the well dressed corporate Johnson. Under the delusion that her corporate affiliation somehow provided a violence-proof shield, she kept trying to see everything that was happening instead of avoiding behaviors that read "Kill me now, please". This ooh-what's-happening attitude was curtailed when Sticks shoved her down under the booth's table.
Because of the Escrimador's rough handling the Johnson missed the brief battle between the second assassin and Billie Blades. She did not see the three red stripes that Billie's claw made across the thin woman's torso. She heard Billie's "oof" as the shrieker fired an improbably long legged kick into the smaller woman's breadbasket. She did not see the single-minded assassin raise the blowgun to her lips, nor did she see the look of shock and dismay on that worthy's too thin face when Falstaff's spell knocked the toxin laden dart back into her mouth. Of course, the gulp, strangled hacking and death rattle were audible, but mercifully brief.
******
Mama Cutter's bellow ended the standoff between the bar's bouncers and the bodyguards. Even the intense teenager backed off enough for the dwarf woman to have bodies removed and order restored. This done, Mama stepped up in front of Sticks and looked him up and down."Good moves" she said with typical brevity. Justifying the suspicion her long time patrons held that the bar was wired, Mama continued "Saw you get it right from the start. Not too shabby. Who's trainin ya?"
"Max" the teenager responded.
Raising an eyebrow Mama acknowledged that she was impressed. "Learn from the best. Keep you alive." With a final nod she began moving past the teenager but stopped to quietly add "You tell the Blue dwarf to stop by sometime. I'd love to see him again." Sticks dipped his head in acknowledgment.
"Not bad, Sweets." The Dwarf woman said in passing. "The muscle is all show, the she-bitch is rabid and your mage slept through the start of the attack, but the kid..... well, the kid is something special. What you've got there is a diamond, Sweets. Don't drop it."
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
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