(no subject)

[sky_from_sea]

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?

Comments

[sky-from-sea.livejournal.com]

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."

[toomuchstoker.livejournal.com]

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.

[sky-from-sea.livejournal.com]

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.