Moral of the day… [Maija]

Posted on May 13, 2009 by Lessa

….do not throw dice at yourself. Kahseeno laughs. Only rolled a few until it became obvious that OMFG OUCH. :)

[Maija]
The bus had finally come, and gone, and on it one waif-like streetrat doing her best not to be noticed. She sat in the back, alone in a double seat, her feet on he seat and her knees pressed to her chest, folded easily in half in a way the overweight, exhausted hotel maid by the look of her uniform in a seat a couple of rows ahead of her only wishes she could accomplish. Hood of that oversized dingy grey sweatshirt pulled low, Maija minds her own business, and prays that others do the same.

For the most part, they do.
For the most part, she’s invisible.
For the most part…

Until a stop just two before her own in the Green, that is. When they’d entered the bus, and joined the late night Public Transportation Zombies, she’d made note of them, then slouched farther in her seat, making herself smaller still. The three of them had bigger fish to fry, and that was fine by her. Two of them paced the aisle, with crude jokes and gestures, passing a paper-bag covered bottle between them, making a loud nuisance of themselves no matter how often the driver told them to sit and shut it. The third, however… the third…

Unlike the other two, this one was calm, silent, glowering. His gang banger look one that was carefully put together, his thuggish demeanor perfected over time. He was, without a doubt, the leader, a with only a look of his dark hooded gaze, the two boisterous boys fell into empty seats – the one in front of Maija, and the one behind her. As for the leader – he sat himself down right next to her.

Shit.
[Maija]
She says nothing. She has been here before, and has learned well that starting the conversation is almost as detrimental as ending one. Her hands twist inside the ‘roo pocket of her hoodie, and the one nearest the ‘banger, her right hand, her dominant hand grasps something tightly in her palm, tight enough to turn her knuckles white until she forces herself to relax slightly. The other, by the window, sneaks out of her pocket to brush her boot, checking the placement of her switch, making sure that it’s within reach, and easily grabbed.

Still, she says nothing. He’ll get tired of the silence. They always do. The other two are still bantering over them, making fun of the housekeeper, making loud suggestions toward the asshole in the back cowering behind his briefcase. This is a ride they’ve taken before. Everyone here knows the drill – everyone here takes this bus, this time, out of necessity, and are prepared to be badgered and abused for it. They just hope to get home. They just hope that it won’t be them that the attention falls on….

In that, they are lucky. Maija is fresh meat.

“Yer new.” he says, breaking his silence. His voice is deep, and accented with heavy native Chicago. “Ain’t seen you on this ride before…” As if he’s personally marked every person to take the bus at 2am from bronzville to the ‘Green.

She doesn’t reply.
She waits.
[Maija]
He grunts, and the full weight of his gaze falls on the waifishly thin streetrat, the way she is watching in front of her, out the window, anywhere but at him and his counterparts. The silence stretches again, as he props up a foot on the edge of the seat in front of them, resting one arm on his knee, while the other stretches behind Maija. In doing so, he places a hand heavily on the back of her hood, and pulls it backwards, so that they can get a good looksee of whats under that hoodie. She doesn’t flinch, though the tension in her shoulders ratchets up a notch, and fingers grasp that blade in her ‘roo pocket tighter. She doesn’t look at them. Not directly.

“Well now ain’t ya a pretty lil thing,” he says, and his boys hoot and hollar like she’s the best looking whore they’ve ever seen. Her eyes meet the bus drivers in the large mirror above the driver’s head, but only briefly. The bus driver won’t be of any help. At most, the driver will be able to identify her remains – if there’s enough left over for identity purposes.

“Ya mama know yer out alone this late, little girl? Maybe me and the boys here, maybe we should walk ya home and make sure ya get there safe…”

He’s trying to get a rise out of her, and she refuses to rise to his bait. She can feel his frustration rising, can feel the boil under the skin as he tuck his arm around her like their old friends. This ain’t Rage, this is just pure gangbanger fucktardery – and she’s not reading her part of the script right, like they think she should.
[Maija]
He leans closer, he sneers, he whispers wetly in her ear, and there is a tremble through her that she can’t quite control. She tries – but though it is slight, he feels it, and his laughter sounds low and soft across her senses, wickedly promising that there is much more to come. She’s got nothing to pay him off with – and he knows it. What he doesn’t know is that she also ain’t got nothing to lose.

“This is my stop.” it’s the first thing she’s said, as the bus driver does his duty and slows down to pull to the curb. Maija unfolds and stands, and finally meets the gangbangers eyes. “Scuse me.”

His lips pull back into an amused smirk, that does not meet his eyes, does not come close to lessoning the glower of intent in them. He twists in his seat though, and moves just enough for her to get by. Behind her back, he makes eye contact with his cohorts and a silent command is passed between them. A nod acknowledges it, and they let her move past.

She ain’t no dummy though. The minute she hits the cement of the sidewalk – she runs. Full tilt, all out, she sprints away from the bus stop, toward the apartment, toward that back alley, the fire escape, the window, safety.

She is unsurprised at the hoots, hollars, and the sound of boots clumping down the street behind her. Folks like that – they ain’t give up. The chase is on.
[Maija]
She’s fast – but not that fast. The chances of her making the two blocks to the apartment are slim. The chances of her making it home at all are falling by the moment as the long legs of the bangers are eating the ground behind her. The best she can hope for is that they’re low belted jeans will fall and trip them up, giving her just that much time to make it to the fire escape unscathed.

For a moment, there is actually hope. For a moment it looks like she’ll make it. She turns down into the back alley, and that’s when a hand wraps around her waist and spins her around. That’s when momentum catches her off balance and sends her into the brick wall next to the dumpster, driving the wind from her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath. That’s also when the “ClickclickCLACK” sounds, birthing the gleam of her blade in her hand.

She’ll have to fight.
She knows this.
And it’s not the first time, by any means.

Thug Boss saunters up behind thug 1 – who had caught her first and sent her into the wall – and thug two. “Ain’t that the shit – offer to walk a girl home and she bolts like a frightened deer. That ain’t no way to pay yer respects, girl.”

“Ain’t got no respect for ya, asshole” is the reply.

His gaze darkens, and drags slowly over her, taking in her stance, her size, and even the blade in her hand. He nods to Thug one, who moves in, while Thug two moves to the other side, blocking her escape. With the wall at her back, the Bossman at her front, and the two boys – the odds are she won’t get out of this one, at all.

She won’t go down without a fight though. Thug one gets close, and she swings the blade in warning his way. He bounces back, and they all laugh.

“That ain’t gonna do ya no good, girl. Thing we’re afraid of a lil pigsticker?”

She just shrugs. And then it’s on.
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
(thugs +5)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6) [WP]
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
(knife dam)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6) [WP]
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Maija]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Maija]
It goes bad from the start. Three on one is never good odds, especially when one is naught but a waifish streetrat, when the other three have been banging together for years. They are not unscathed when it is all said and done, however – boss has a nice long slice across his cheekbone that will scar, but did little more damage than make make an already ugly face, uglier.

Maija is not so lucky. When the first fist finds it’s mark, she can feel the ribs break, she can feel the pressure on her breath, the bruising of her insides, the sharp stab of agony that steals her breath away. The next blows are but bee stings compared to that first one, and they already know she is at their mercy. There is little she can do but attempt to fight back weakly, until her blades are knocked aside, until her hands are pinned, until her body is captive – theirs for their amusement.

There is nothing she can do.

Each breath is a knife through her lungs, each slap, pinch, poke, leaving her unable to do anything but struggle – and she does struggle. Make no mistake about it – she does struggle. So much so that Thug two misses completely, and breaks his hand on the bricks behind her, which does nothing to improve their attitude towards her.

They knock her out cold. What happens then, is best left to the imagination. It is not pretty. It is not sane. In some part of her mind she is very glad that she is not awake for most of it.

Two hours later, they leave her for dead.
[Maija]
It is two hours after that, when she struggles to some sort of consciousness. She groans – and it sharpens to a cry as she tries to sit up, tries to quickly to move. She has not been in pain this bad… not since he had gone berzerk the last time, and sent her to the hospital. She should be sent there now – but there is no one to save her, no one to find her. Not here, even so close to home.

Home.
Will.
She has to get to Will.

He had often wondered if she would be there when he returned from work, if he’d wake up one morning and find her gone, if she would decide it is too much, too little, not enough, suffocating, too hard, too easy… this is the first time, though, that he wakes up to find she has not returned home, that the apartment is empty of her presence, that there is no breakfast in the process of being made, no lunch made up for him to take to work.

It’s the first time she. is. not. there.
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