The Bleak Streets of Twokinds: A Twokinds Forum Noir Story

[Schrodinger]

Av could use some tips, methinks; he's a little less ruthless than he needs to be, or will need to be...

If I hadn't been shot, I'd be more than willing to give him some pointers.

I'd me more than willing to show him some torture techniques.

Torture techniques are only helpful if you can beat them; getting yourself killed doesn't really put you in the position to be torturing anyone.

Torture teaches you how to hurt people in very effective ways, use it correctly and any fight will shift in your favor. In that scuffle avwolf had the element of surprise, he could have broken the would be hitman's finger, wrist or elbow in one swift motion, taken the gun and turned it on the user. A strike to the floating rib hurts like hell but is far from debilitating unless you break the bone and puncture the lung.

[avwolf]

Well, I guess I know I can up the ante on the ultraviolence after all this. Thanks for the positive comments, I'm working hard on improving my fight scenes and combat choreography. They definitely need more work, but they're getting there.

There are a couple of reasons for the nameless/faceless hitman. First, the person or persons behind this isn't ready to take me on head-to-head, the good operators are either doing something else that pertains to the plot or are watching me, rather than getting their hands dirty. Only virtually no-name idiots think they're going to get somewhere with a direct assault. The second, and probably more important reason, is that I feel bad beating the stuffing out of someone who actually exists. (Shooting Sable in the neck notwithstanding.) Especially for something so small as this. As things get more exciting, we'll probably have some fights with some authentic names.

[Sable Dove]

The second, and probably more important reason, is that I feel bad beating the stuffing out of someone who actually exists. (Shooting Sable in the neck notwithstanding.)

Comforting to hear it doesn't bother you to nearly kill me...

[avwolf]

The second, and probably more important reason, is that I feel bad beating the stuffing out of someone who actually exists. (Shooting Sable in the neck notwithstanding.)

Comforting to hear it doesn't bother you to nearly kill me...

It'll make sense later. I promise.

[Sithil]

As things get more exciting, we'll probably have some fights with some authentic names.

...You're not exactly comforting me, either, here.

[Windwaker]

Oooh, that was a good update. Schrodinger's photo made me grin.

I read Sithil's story as well, and that was really well done. The two could almost be temporally sequential. Was that intentional?

Also: My debut has me excited.

[Sithil]

I read Sithil's story as well, and that was really well done. The two could almost be temporally sequential. Was that intentional?

Hrm, well, can't say that it was, actually. I had no such thing in mind when I wrote my piece, but I can see how it might give that impression.

[Insomniac]

After the last update, and now that I've gotten caught up, I have this to say


MOAR NAOW!

Also, I volunteer to be a brick trader in the story, somewhere, at some point, because I seem to be getting brick'd in every other pos...
*brick'd*
See, just like that! Owie...

[avwolf]

For those of you who didn't read the NWC thread (and for posterity), here's the most recent update. Many of you who have already read it might be pleased to know that the purpose of this fight scene was to feature the line about introducing a man's face to a wall and then repeating myself out of politeness. I consciously chose to make another of my favorite phrases, "the fastest way to the truth is through the fingers," key in a later scene. This one's still pretty violent, though. The plot should, hopefully, pick up a little from here. I know that some of you have been waiting a long time to appear, and for the delay, I do apologize, but many of you are showing up soon. I think I've got a direction for the plot that I like, but I need to work out the leverage that the various "end-game" characters have on one another. Of course, that situation is long into the future, so I've got plenty of time to work it out.

-------------
I saunter casually to one of the narrow little alleys between the quaint shops of the borough and step into it, like I don't have a care in the world. As soon as I'm out of easy sight from the street, I slip into the shadow of a dumpster near the mouth of the alley and wait. I don't have to wait long. My pursuer is a pretty nondescript furless, a schlub without a memorable name or face. I'm sure that's intentional. He strides into the alley with a purposeful step, his gait stunted by an unwillingness to swing his right arm far from his side. A hitman, one who never had the sense to learn how to walk like you're not carrying a heater. His scent is seamy and unpleasant, reeking of arrogance and derision. The city's stench of asphalt and wet fur hasn't sunk into his bones yet, definitely a hire from out of town. He catches me moving in his peripheral vision, his draw just fast enough to pull a long-barrel thirty-eight into his hand before I grab his arm. I catch sight of the tattoo on his wrist as he squeezes the trigger, just enough of a glimpse to discern one important detail: the numeral three. Dollars to doughnuts that there's an equals sign there next to it. The revolver discharges next to my face, leaving me with a ringing in my ears and nearly catching my cigarette in the cylinder. I give him a quick jab to the floating rib, but he throws his weight into his shooting arm and pushes me back to the rough brick wall. He starts to line up another shot, but I toss my hat into his face, knock his aim away and spin in the other direction, like I'm a matador looking to avoid a horned fate. Just like that enraged bull, he whirls as soon as his vision's clear, his gun barrel searching for my face. I lower my shoulder and rush, slamming him into the dumpster. He groans with the impact.

"Who sent you, chucklehead?" I demand. He swings the revolver at my eye in response. I dodge to the side, but too slowly to avoid it clipping me on the ear. I stumble. The hitman tries to bring the pistol to bear, but I knock it aside again, but not before he buries another round into the pavement all too close to my body. He throws a haymaker into my solar plexus. It drives the air out of my body. I can't manage more than a grunt without working lungs, but I can't let a little thing like that slow me down, or this guy won't let give my lungs the chance to start functioning again. I stay inside his guard to prevent him from aiming the iron at my face again. I catch another blow to my chin while I'm distracted by my lack of oxygen. My head snaps back, but this isn't my first rodeo, so I don't just bring it back down into his waiting fist. I shift back a half step, duck and weave, then rush back forward, before the gunman can bring that cannon around. He buys my feint of a right cross and my left hook connects. He sees stars long enough for me to step up beside him. I grasp the back of his head in my right hand and introduce his nose to the alley wall. And, being as I'm such a polite guy, I repeat myself, just so that there's no misunderstanding. I relieve the stunned Laughing Cat of his revolver. "I asked who signs your paychecks. I'd appreciate an answer."

"[censored] you," he slurs through bloodied lips. That's not the right answer. I press his thirty-eight against his elbow and squeeze the trigger. I feel like it makes my point for me. If it isn't obvious yet, I have a bit of a temper, and every once in a while...well, I'd compare it to an inopportunely dropped Zippo in a fireworks factory.

"You are in my town, [censored], making trouble for me. You've got three more rounds to convince me that I shouldn't put an end to that trouble in a permanent fashion," I growl, baring my fangs. He makes a good-faith attempt to spit in my face. I put the next bullet in his left knee. "Want to keep this up?"

He makes a noise, somewhere between a cough and a whimper. "I don't know who's calling the shots, we never do. Word got passed down to me; there's a drop at Drawing Board." He wheezes a laugh. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Mod. There's a lot more of us in this city than you imagine. If we decide to make this place burn, you'll have nothing but ashes." I snort my own derisive laugh in return.

"We'll just have to see about that, cockmongrel." I slam his revolver into his face, cold-cocking him into silence. The would-be hitter slumps to the alley floor in a sticky pool of some unidentified fluids leaking out of a garbage bag. I narrow my eyes. Looks like I'll have to put Drawing Board on my to-visit list. But that won't do me much good if I don't know what I'm looking for. Fortunately, I know a few people who, shall we say, aren't strangers to violence. They might know a thing or two about where a triggerman might go looking for orders in Drawing Board. The crunch of shoes on the dingy alley floor attracts my attention. I look up, the revolver at the ready.

Standing just this side of the street is the joker I spotted in the window's reflection. I relax my aim, but bare my teeth. "You idiot! No wonder Sithil complains about the help these days. If you're going to follow me, at least try to be discrete! Otherwise I'll be tripping over chowderheads like this nonstop," I snarl.

"I...He didn't follow me!" Sithil's lurker henchman protests. Sithil is the resident sadist, a fact he takes some amount of pride in. He's regarded as being cold-blooded, and the whispered slur on the street is that it might be literal. He's got eyes and spies everywhere, running a gang that shares in some of his beliefs, though they almost never share his skill, finesse, or ability. If there's been violence undertaken or planned, Sithil will have heard of it and reveled in it. I'd been planning to set up a meet with him just thanks to that; the business meeting I'd just concluded had given me another reason. Sithil has just gone to the top of my list.

"Just tell your boss I'm coming to see him," I hiss, cutting off several stammered half-explanations, and shoulder brusquely past the inept goon and back into the street. A flash of color on the sidewalk catches my eye. It's a Polaroid photograph, the instant kind, of garishly costumed performers on a stage, holding poses that baffle both the eyes and the mind. It's either of the Spiderman musical, or some kind of religious pageant invented during the Seventies and under heavy drug influences. Or maybe some combination thereof; a Spiderman meets Jesus Christ Superstar at a Grateful Dead concert sort of play. Written with indelible ink in neat block letters were the words "Good Show." At this rate, I won't have tails anymore, I'll have a full-blown entourage. There's going to be so many people following me, crowds will gather, wondering where I have the seventy-six trombones hidden.

"Avvy!" I hear a voice shout my name. I'm just more and more popular today. At least this individual is welcome. I'd sent Windwaker a message before I'd turned in last night, or this morning rather. With any luck, he'd gotten the note and had taken care of what I'd asked about. Windwaker's got a relatively unusual talent, one that I could find very handy, considering all the recent events. Windwaker is a bat. The kind with wings and the ability to fly. He might not be a satellite or a news helicopter, but when it comes to eyes in the sky, I don't think I can afford to be that picky.

"Double-Dubya," I call out, "Over here."

[Schrodinger]

You copied and pasted the censored version.

[avwolf]

*laugh* Did I? I have my swear filter on to catch when people try to get past it. I'll fix that up in a jiffy.

[Kaptain]

Beautiful Av. Just Beautiful.

Many of you who have already read it might be pleased to know that the purpose of this fight scene was to feature the line about introducing a man's face to a wall and then repeating myself out of politeness.

You are too nice you know. He was trying to kill you ya'know, no need to be so polite! Just love the way nicknames are used. Since I haven't been on the forums long (very short time in fact) it makes it seem more immersive and helps remind me of the fact that it has roots from the forums themselves. I think I said that right. It makes sense in my head at least

Sorry I didn't comment on this earlier. Been off the forums for awhile

[IAmSerge]

Was quite a well to read story, indeed.

I thoroughly enjoyed all of the metaphors and rhetoric included in such a dark and semi-truth-based fiction.

Reading through all of this was not just on a whim, however.
...I'll just say that I had some persuasion from a mutual friend.

-Serge

[Windwaker]

Man, it's been a while.

/hopesplode

[JediGuy]

Man, it's been a while.

/hopesplode

...Wind...I'm gonna kill you.