Post by York on Mar 3, 2018 16:37:53 GMT -5
Silver Star had one goal when she set out for the open seas, make up enough money to pay for the damages she had caused while standing up for herself and all she held dear. A textbook example at the injustice found on the world, but there was nothing that justice could do to get her out of her situation.
That situation being stood in front of an alley between two stores that could not be bothered to get rid of her. She stood on her steel folding chair, and had spent the better part of the last half hour dancing every jig she had under her bonnet, solely for the entertainment of those who’d happen to walk by and maybe donate a few loose coins into a cup. The Charleston wasn’t impressing anyone, the Cabbage Patch less so. No one was biting at the Sprinkler, and frankly, her Lawnmower had always left much to be desired.
This wasn’t her plan from the start to get the money she needed, but it became a necessity when the masked woman realized that she had no clue where to start as a bounty hunter. While keen on the idea of beating people up for money, where to even begin looking for her first mark was a completely foreign idea to her. Anyone she’d ask would just turn their noses up at her like she was chopped liver. Perhaps it had to do with the uptight atmosphere of the natives were used to, or maybe the uncouth point of view they had on bounty hunters. Or maybe it was just her, personally. Admittedly, she wasn’t as kempt as she’d like to be, and was only vaguely sure when the last time she had washed her mask was, but that was no reason to be rude now. And it was no reason to offer up such chump change to someone dancing their heart out. But then again, Silver Star was not a dancer to begin with, so the blame couldn’t be passed off to the people passing by exclusively.
A smile flew onto her face when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Excitedly turning around, the masked fighter was met with a pair of gentleman in strange baggy clothing, painted faces, deep frowns, and matching orange afros. Silver Star clapped, “Whoa, clowns! You guys here to dance with me?” she asked, twisting her hips and shimmying her shoulders.
The clowns kept their frowns true and both shot their hands into their baggy pants, drawing a wooden club of sorts. The one closest to Star spoke up. “You’re on our turf. This corner belongs to the Clowns. I don’t see any makeup on you, so you’re trespassing.”
“Hey, fellas!” Star made guns with her hands and pointed to the clowns, “turn those frowns upside down. We can work together and bring the money in together. You know, as a team.” Neither of the clowns seemed too pleased with this idea, advancing on Star while whacking their palms with their little clubs. “Aha! Glad you see it my way.”
“He's looking right at me!” A small, sharp dressed man whispered, pulling on the lapel of the taller, equally sharp dressed, yet far better built man.
The bodyguard rolled his eyes and put on a forced smile. “Can you blame him?” he said, speaking as though his recipient were a child, “Who wouldn’t want to look at you, Mr Pickett? You’re a celebrity around these parts!”
Mr. Pickett was not amused, scowling so hard his lips almost fell off. “I don’t pay you for praise, you’re paid for protection” he said, pointing the object of his discontent, “now do what you’re paid for and protect me!”
The taller man looked to the strumming guitarist Pickett had pointed too. He was in fact looking at the two who had come to a sudden stop before him. His eyes darted back and forth between them and his guitar case spattered with coins and bills. Reaching his hefty hand into his pocket, he halfheartedly threw a few coins into the guitar case, receiving a kind nod from the musician in response. The busker’s eyes then moved to the smaller man, hoping for more of the same. As the musician eyed him up and down, his eyes were drawn to the strange, bulbous device decorating his wrist. The music came to a stop, and the guitarist leaned in to get a closer look, with Pickett suddenly pulling his arm back like the guitarist was trying to eat it with his eyes.
“Aw now you’ve done it.” Pickett complained, slapping the bodyguard’s arm and pointing at the benign musician’s wanting eyes with his undecorated arm. “I’ve got no money!” He rudely snapped, grabbing his bodyguard’s sleeve and pulling him away.
Groaning the bodyguard asked. “What did you want me to do, sir? He wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“Why does this island bear such spineless dopes? All I want is protection and no one wants to help me!”
“Sir, I am protecting you as best I can.”
“He was armed, Simpkins!”
“What, with his guitar?”
“A great murder weapon. He could’ve bashed my head in and you wouldn’t have been the wiser until I was half-way to the pearly gates!”
“You’re overreacting a hair, sir. I would have had plenty of time to stop him if push came to shove.”
“What, when you were paying for his next dinner?!” Pickett turned around and pointed right to his bodyguard’s nose. The bodyguard was about to slap the hand away when his eyes laid on the strange device on his employer’s wrist. Same as before Pickett drew his arm back and pointed with his other arm instead. “You need to understand something, I am a powerful man. I can replace you, and I can do it before you clear your throat! I suggest you straighten up and do your job properly before I start getting ideas!”
“When’ve you ever had an idea?” thought Simpkins the bodyguard, turning and rubbing the annoyed look off his face. Of all the ads to respond to, he had to respond to this lunatic’s. Turning back to face him, Simpkins bore a blank expression. “Sir,” he started, trying to sound calm despite his employer’s outbursts, “do you expect me to just attack people willy-nilly? Does that sound like the type of person you want to trust with your life in this budding age of piracy?”
Pickett brought a hand to his chin, deep in mock thought. “Hmm, a person who gets rid of all who threaten me and my wealth? Someone I am paying to makes the world a safer place for me? Sounds like a bodyguard! I would love one of those.”
Angry words and snide insinuations were imminent, luckily, a pair of clowns appeared to lighten the mood, although not in the way they usually do. They stumbled out of the alley they claimed as their turf, clutching their heads and limping away. A woman chased after them like an excited hunting dog, donning a mask and wielding a steel folding chair. The clowns tried to run, but Silver Star was too quick. She brought her steel chair down on the closest one’s back, taking him down with a sickening thud. The other clown was in her sights, but her attention was instead drawn to the men in suits blankly staring at her.
Placing her chair under her left arm, Star approached them with wide steps while shimmying her shoulders. Once close enough, she took a knee and held out an upturned hand, staring directly at the shorter Pickett with an impossibly wide grin.
Before either man could make a comment, the clown that had escaped reared his painted head again, this time wielding both small clubs. He got behind Star, and was aiming to strike her in the back of her head. Simpkins leapt in front of Pickett to try to at least do his job, but Silver Star, realizing she’d left one of the clowns standing, emancipated him of that responsibility. From her kneeling position, she jumped backwards and wrapped her free hand around the clown’s head, positioning it right in front of the plate on her shoulder. Straightening her body horizentally, she hit the ground with a sickening crash, driving the clown’s head into the metal, his entire body going limp as a result.
From her back, Star sprung to her feet and back into her kneeling position, palm upturned towards the duo, as if the previous moment hadn’t happened at all. Pickett looked at Star, then up to Simpkins. His decision made, he scrambled out from behind the towering man and moved behind the mysterious masked lady, pointing to the larger bodyguard with a matching grin on his face.
“You’re fired!”
That situation being stood in front of an alley between two stores that could not be bothered to get rid of her. She stood on her steel folding chair, and had spent the better part of the last half hour dancing every jig she had under her bonnet, solely for the entertainment of those who’d happen to walk by and maybe donate a few loose coins into a cup. The Charleston wasn’t impressing anyone, the Cabbage Patch less so. No one was biting at the Sprinkler, and frankly, her Lawnmower had always left much to be desired.
This wasn’t her plan from the start to get the money she needed, but it became a necessity when the masked woman realized that she had no clue where to start as a bounty hunter. While keen on the idea of beating people up for money, where to even begin looking for her first mark was a completely foreign idea to her. Anyone she’d ask would just turn their noses up at her like she was chopped liver. Perhaps it had to do with the uptight atmosphere of the natives were used to, or maybe the uncouth point of view they had on bounty hunters. Or maybe it was just her, personally. Admittedly, she wasn’t as kempt as she’d like to be, and was only vaguely sure when the last time she had washed her mask was, but that was no reason to be rude now. And it was no reason to offer up such chump change to someone dancing their heart out. But then again, Silver Star was not a dancer to begin with, so the blame couldn’t be passed off to the people passing by exclusively.
A smile flew onto her face when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Excitedly turning around, the masked fighter was met with a pair of gentleman in strange baggy clothing, painted faces, deep frowns, and matching orange afros. Silver Star clapped, “Whoa, clowns! You guys here to dance with me?” she asked, twisting her hips and shimmying her shoulders.
The clowns kept their frowns true and both shot their hands into their baggy pants, drawing a wooden club of sorts. The one closest to Star spoke up. “You’re on our turf. This corner belongs to the Clowns. I don’t see any makeup on you, so you’re trespassing.”
“Hey, fellas!” Star made guns with her hands and pointed to the clowns, “turn those frowns upside down. We can work together and bring the money in together. You know, as a team.” Neither of the clowns seemed too pleased with this idea, advancing on Star while whacking their palms with their little clubs. “Aha! Glad you see it my way.”
“He's looking right at me!” A small, sharp dressed man whispered, pulling on the lapel of the taller, equally sharp dressed, yet far better built man.
The bodyguard rolled his eyes and put on a forced smile. “Can you blame him?” he said, speaking as though his recipient were a child, “Who wouldn’t want to look at you, Mr Pickett? You’re a celebrity around these parts!”
Mr. Pickett was not amused, scowling so hard his lips almost fell off. “I don’t pay you for praise, you’re paid for protection” he said, pointing the object of his discontent, “now do what you’re paid for and protect me!”
The taller man looked to the strumming guitarist Pickett had pointed too. He was in fact looking at the two who had come to a sudden stop before him. His eyes darted back and forth between them and his guitar case spattered with coins and bills. Reaching his hefty hand into his pocket, he halfheartedly threw a few coins into the guitar case, receiving a kind nod from the musician in response. The busker’s eyes then moved to the smaller man, hoping for more of the same. As the musician eyed him up and down, his eyes were drawn to the strange, bulbous device decorating his wrist. The music came to a stop, and the guitarist leaned in to get a closer look, with Pickett suddenly pulling his arm back like the guitarist was trying to eat it with his eyes.
“Aw now you’ve done it.” Pickett complained, slapping the bodyguard’s arm and pointing at the benign musician’s wanting eyes with his undecorated arm. “I’ve got no money!” He rudely snapped, grabbing his bodyguard’s sleeve and pulling him away.
Groaning the bodyguard asked. “What did you want me to do, sir? He wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“Why does this island bear such spineless dopes? All I want is protection and no one wants to help me!”
“Sir, I am protecting you as best I can.”
“He was armed, Simpkins!”
“What, with his guitar?”
“A great murder weapon. He could’ve bashed my head in and you wouldn’t have been the wiser until I was half-way to the pearly gates!”
“You’re overreacting a hair, sir. I would have had plenty of time to stop him if push came to shove.”
“What, when you were paying for his next dinner?!” Pickett turned around and pointed right to his bodyguard’s nose. The bodyguard was about to slap the hand away when his eyes laid on the strange device on his employer’s wrist. Same as before Pickett drew his arm back and pointed with his other arm instead. “You need to understand something, I am a powerful man. I can replace you, and I can do it before you clear your throat! I suggest you straighten up and do your job properly before I start getting ideas!”
“When’ve you ever had an idea?” thought Simpkins the bodyguard, turning and rubbing the annoyed look off his face. Of all the ads to respond to, he had to respond to this lunatic’s. Turning back to face him, Simpkins bore a blank expression. “Sir,” he started, trying to sound calm despite his employer’s outbursts, “do you expect me to just attack people willy-nilly? Does that sound like the type of person you want to trust with your life in this budding age of piracy?”
Pickett brought a hand to his chin, deep in mock thought. “Hmm, a person who gets rid of all who threaten me and my wealth? Someone I am paying to makes the world a safer place for me? Sounds like a bodyguard! I would love one of those.”
Angry words and snide insinuations were imminent, luckily, a pair of clowns appeared to lighten the mood, although not in the way they usually do. They stumbled out of the alley they claimed as their turf, clutching their heads and limping away. A woman chased after them like an excited hunting dog, donning a mask and wielding a steel folding chair. The clowns tried to run, but Silver Star was too quick. She brought her steel chair down on the closest one’s back, taking him down with a sickening thud. The other clown was in her sights, but her attention was instead drawn to the men in suits blankly staring at her.
Placing her chair under her left arm, Star approached them with wide steps while shimmying her shoulders. Once close enough, she took a knee and held out an upturned hand, staring directly at the shorter Pickett with an impossibly wide grin.
Before either man could make a comment, the clown that had escaped reared his painted head again, this time wielding both small clubs. He got behind Star, and was aiming to strike her in the back of her head. Simpkins leapt in front of Pickett to try to at least do his job, but Silver Star, realizing she’d left one of the clowns standing, emancipated him of that responsibility. From her kneeling position, she jumped backwards and wrapped her free hand around the clown’s head, positioning it right in front of the plate on her shoulder. Straightening her body horizentally, she hit the ground with a sickening crash, driving the clown’s head into the metal, his entire body going limp as a result.
From her back, Star sprung to her feet and back into her kneeling position, palm upturned towards the duo, as if the previous moment hadn’t happened at all. Pickett looked at Star, then up to Simpkins. His decision made, he scrambled out from behind the towering man and moved behind the mysterious masked lady, pointing to the larger bodyguard with a matching grin on his face.
“You’re fired!”