A Dish Best Served Cold

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/21/2002 10:25 PM Central Daylight Time
From: That Guy Harris


Harris skulked in the foliage across the street from a bustling and rather noisy tavern, eagerly questioning his anonymous companion each time a group of men staggered from its warm confines. Every negative response seemed to enrage him further, lips curling into a frightful sneer. The minutes droned on into hours, though the passage of time simply fueled his anger rather
than abating it and pacifying him.

The scene in the Arena continued to play over and over in his mind like a bad dream he couldn't shake. Stick's tortured grimace as she stumbled toward him and her story of her encounter with a group of random street punks remained fresh in his memory. What the hell was she doing out wandering the streets anyway? He remembered she mentioned something about a "deal", a topic he'd be damn sure to question her about later, though the thought was soon
lost as he was jerked from his reverie by his colleague's prodding and gesturing.

Harris then turned his attention toward several men that matched Stick's description exiting the bar. Now it was time for blood to be spilt, so both men emerged from their place of concealment, a steady gait leading them toward their prey. Harris was first to speak up.

"Hey, 'scuse me! You guys happen to run across any women earlier tonight?"

He spoke with a grin, his best attempt to appear affable and non-threatening.

"We run 'cross lotsa wimmen every night, don't we boys?"

The comment elicited a hearty chuckle from the rest of the group, giving Harris all the evidence he needed.

"Wrong answer."

Worked into a frenzy and spurned into action by thoughts of these... "men" ravaging his woman, *his* woman... A closed fisted blow sent the man before him down nursing a broken and bloodied nose on the pavement, his other four compatriots proving slow to action. Bloodthirsty he moved on to his next hapless victim, landing a sharp kick to the man's groin and doubling him over. With a scornful sneer he grasped handfuls of matted, dirty blonde hair and
wrenched the offending head downward to meet a pointed rising knee, leaving the man in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Harris stalked onward toward the next man still on his feet, a rather sadistic grin finding his lips as he noted the punk had raised his fists, assuming some semblance of a fighting stance. The scuffling of clothing against the cobbled path alerted him to the imminent danger lurking behind him; apparently a single blow proved inadequate to fell the first man. His body twisted into his attack, both elbows tucked in firmly against his sides, a booted
heel struck jaw with brutal precision; the end of the spin saw teeth and blood sent everywhere.

There was momentary pause in the carnage as Harris turned his gaze to his final victim, determined to resolve this confrontation in an even more frighteningly vicious fashion. The blue stone tucked away safely in his pocket began to shimmer and pulsate and soon his digits coiled around a rather crude serrated blade formed from pure ice. He stalked forward, slicing a quick left fist around toward the man's head, forcing him low and directly into the
path of the incoming knife. He pushed forward, twisting the blade sharply to rend flesh and vital organs. The man expelled what would be his final breath as blood spewed from the gaping wound, painting the pavement a bright crimson. The adrenaline slowly began to wear off as he hovered over the trio of downed opponents, casting a glance toward his colleague.

"We're done here."

And with that they headed back the way they came.

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/23/2002 12:57 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Bode BoJangles


A Dish Best Served Cold: Bode's Point of View




Bode had been peering over the bush before him for the longest time, though he did manage to ration his beer over a two-hour period. This proved agonizingly difficult, since there was simply nothing else to do but stare across the street at Captain Hammer's main entrance. "I saw 'em in there, so I know they're comin' out soon. They already seemed pretty wasted; can't hold much more I wouldn't think." It wasn't but a moment later that that
gang of five males exited that tavern.
"That be them," Bode declared and drained the final drops from his bottle. "Let's say we give 'em a few--" but his fiery comrade-in-arms had already marked his targets and deployed. Bode stood, flipped the bottle into a 180 and clutched it at the neck. "Hot damn!" he yelled ecstatically and chased along.
That comrade of his had already riled up the gang members by the time he arrived, which left Bode without a surprise advantage. The shortest one spotted Bode and had began cocking his arm when Bode shattered the bottle across his forehead. A second, taller, slimmer fellow flicked out a switchblade and advanced, and caught Bode, who had set his eyes a bit too long on the first felled fellow, across the cheek. Bode immediately grabbed his
wrist that held the blade, and then shoved a fast boot into his stomach, forcing him to release the weapon and send it clattering on the pavement.
He removed his hold now that the fight was fair and raised his dukes, but just as Bode was about to jab out, the other fellow opposite spotted something sidelong that caused him to at first back away from it and then to sprint all-out. Bewildered, Bode relaxed, watching the frightened man a moment before turning to find out what he saw: and there on the cement sidewalk was the bludgeoned body of that man's buddy.
After gently touching his cheek he observed some blood on his fingers, then glanced to his moving comrade and began walking after. "Ya know, I don't think Captain Hammer's gonna like his business bein' killed."