sky_from_sea | (no subject)

(no subject)

They're sending out a posse for Nicky.

They're sending out a posse.

For Nicky.

They're going to get their asses handed to them. (Well, probably not, but--Nicky's a bastard. Anna will never forget that.)

That, and Nicky is hers.

This explains why Anna--shotgun in hand, handgun in her waistband, and knife under her shirt--is stalking the mean streets of Chicago, keeping an eye out for an old, old friend.

The only question is, why is she leading Crabapple behind her? And what is all the rope for?

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"I always liked a good direct shot to the veins better, sweetheart."

He's close now.

"Found some friends there, too. They might be havin' a party with yours right now."

She shifts her grip on the shotgun, muscles drawn wire-tight with a sudden surge of adrenaline.

"They might be, at that. But I like our party better, Nicky."

This time she does smile, sharp and false.

"You always did know how to give a girl just what she wanted."

"Glad to hear it."

There's a rustle and snap just at the edge of her peripheral vision, Nicky's coat blowing in the wind as he dives at her from above.

She whirls to meet him, jabbing the butt of her shotgun up and into his jaw.

There is a very audible crack as it connects, just seconds before Nicky's weight topples her over, bearing her down to the ground.

He's a dead weight on her for a moment, before shaking it off- that fucking hurt.

Nicky voices his frustration in a wordless snarl and wraps his hands around Anna's throat, slamming her head into the pavement.

She's already winded from a solid blow of Nicky to the solar plexus, which means the ringing in her head from the blow to the ground is even more of a pain in the ass.

Not to mention her increasing difficulty with breathing.

She bucks up under him, back arching. It frees her knee just enough so that she can get him a good shot in the balls.

"Augh-" enhanced strength or not, it's an instinctual response to get the hell away from that.

Nicky releases her and rolls off and away in a crouch, trying to regain his own breath and dignity.

"I'm gonna make you scream," he snarls, baring his teeth at her.

Anna chokes, pushing herself up to her elbows, then rolling over in an attempt to stand.

Her voice, when she finally manages enough breath to speak, is hoarse.

There's gonna be a lot of bruising later, looks like.

"Oh honey, you say the sweetest things."

She fumbles with the shotgun, swinging it up to point right at him.

Here's hoping it didn't get damaged. Nicky's got a hard head.

Pushing himself up, he lunges at her again, trying to leap over the gun entirely.

The report of the shotgun is clear and loud in the deepening twilight.

The sharp, sudden smell of blood fills the air, and Anna can feel her mouth water, even though she's already fed.

Crabapple, who can smell blood too, breaks position and skitters off into the dark.

Hopefully she hasn't gone all that far. They might not be alone out here, after all.

There's a groan, and Nicky uncurls from where he landed. The lower part of his left leg is slowly turning red. The shotgun blast seems to have torn him up a bit.

But he still stands, and Anna can see the white of his eyes as he wrenches the gun away from her, careless of the hot barrel.

He kicks out at her side.

She feels something snap in her ribcage, hand dropping to the ground to better support her weight.

If she thought breathing hurt before--this has got to be worse.

Her own foot swings out to catch him in his left leg, seeking to further that initial injury.

She might also be fumbling at her waistband for her handgun.

Anna's got a feeling she's going to need it very badly in a second or two.

He staggers back a step with another snarl, before straightening up.

Nicky laughs. It's almost hysterical, and he chokes on it a little, walking toward her. He reaches down to grab at her hands.

"You've got no idea, kitten. You can't kill me, I'm gonna keep coming for you-"

He opens his mouth, flashing fangs as he leans down towards her bare wrist.

She curls her hand in a futile attempt to rake his face with her fingernails.

He doesn't have long to laugh at her attempt, though, because her other hand's on the Glock in her waistband, clicking off the safety.

Anna shoots Nicky point-blank in the collarbone.

It shatters, blood splattering against the ground, against her face.

She doesn't flinch at all.

"No, sweetheart, you really won't."

He's the one who actually screams.

Nicky is flat on the ground now, good hand clutching his shoulder. The other leg she shot twitches, sending pain shooting up his spine.

Barely conscious, his eyes roll back.

She stands, wavering on suddenly unsteady legs.

Dammit, she can't lose the adrenaline now. Not yet.

Gritting her teeth, she takes a step forward, bending down to knock him in the head with the butt of her gun.

There.

That should keep him out while she gets Crabapple back.

And decides whether or not she's going to kill him.

She can feel her teeth itching to rip his throat out, drink down his blood, feel it end.

She also feels her stomach turn at the very thought.

Right.

Dry heaves later, horse now.

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