Malice and Chains Pt. 2

[venomouselle.livejournal.com]

When; Morning, April 23rd Power Switch Curse
Rating; Light R (Language)
Characters; Budd shit_stings and Elle Driver venomouselle
Summary; When two assassins walk on the beach, it's never a pretty thing. Part 2 of 2
Log;

 

Fine. If she didn't want to answer, he supposed that she didn't have to. She likely knew who Vihaio was, though, and that was probably enough. His face turn somber as he approached, and he pushed roughly on her damage-side shoulder before he grabbed her roughly, doing a once-over for weapons, and her last knife and pistol were tossed aside.

“Now, you listen to me..." He gripped the collar of her shirt, turning the knife's edge to just barely rest on her lips. "Someday, we'll figure this shit out. For now, you don't get to whine about what a sorry, evil bastard I am because I left something that you were toppling, anyhow. You're a sorry, needy bitch, and you ran around on me with my brother, and you ran around on my brother with the fucker in your bed, 'cause you weren't sure he was dead 'til just yesterday. Well, sweetheart, Bill's dead, I'm dead, and you're just ripe for the blamin', so I'mma treat you right." His voice lightened, but his it was still quite serious, low and near-whispered, "Slice your fuckin' face open, and we'll see who'll fuck you on someone else's time, again." 

There was a long pause, in which his facial expression shifted at least twice, "Fuck if you ain't the prettiest thing, though." He was talking as if she couldn't understand, demeaning. He smiled stiffly, and the knife moved. He nicked her lower lip just slightly, kissed her soundly, and threw her down. 

She hissed at the sharp edge's shallow cut, blood welling slowly spreading over her dried lower lip. He hardly allowed her to wince before his second assault: his mouth on hers hard and bruising. The salt of his skin and bitter tang of blood made a particularly sour taste, maybe it was something like defeat. In the very next moment, Elle fell hard onto the sand. She was fast enough to roll so that she didn't fall on her injured arm. "W-what the fuck," she growled and spoke carefully to not make the cut deepen, "was that?" 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing light and easy once again, "The fuck did it look like?" Honestly, wasn't there anything proper about that fella' of hers? He'd have a hard time figuring she was deprived at all.

Her free hand balled into a fist. For a moment she considered throwing it in his face. Elle instead just sneered and tried to see where he threw her gun. Fuck tact. "Real fucking cute, dipshit." She slowly sat upright, waiting for the adrenaline to ease the break that now throbbed.

He was actually kicking sand over her pistol idly, and shrugged at her statement. "Bet you didn't really think so. You're such a fuckin' liar. You shouldn't lead people on, you know." 

That earned him a signature glare of distaste. "Who's nostalgic now?" The pistol was no where in sight. She'd probably be just as lucky with the knife. Hand to hand combat was not in the cards. Why the hell didn't she have super powers?

Slowly, bit by bit, Elle pulled herself to her feet. Everything was starting to hurt. Ribs included. "Okay, honey. What do you want with me?" each word was acidic. “Here I am.” 

"Can't help it with the company," he fired back, still smiling, even purely, perhaps, as a counter to Elle's open disdain.

He stepped back as she stood up, keeping his eyes on where he'd discarded her weapons. He took an odd sort of pride in the damage he'd done. After all, she'd spent so much time insulting his abilities. He shrugged, though, answering her question honestly, "Rough you up a bit, I guess. Told you it's fate. Got powers, and appeared right before you. Figured it was ordained, or some shit." 

The ocean breeze pulled at her hair and his. They stood in tableau, in some sort of mockery of a Western stand off. Midday sun burned overhead. Elle squinted. There were no guns to draw. "Ordained," she snorted. "So fate told you to come and kick my ass. Pig, ever consider something called karma?"

He shrugged yet again, inwardly cursing at his sliced-up shoulder, grateful for a hospital and the general feeling of amnesty in this town. "That could be what this is, I guess. Sounds prettier. You killed me, and now this." 

"You're the only one perceiving pretty things, Budd." A sliver of amusement dawned over her as she caught the wince at his movement. She would have laughed if she wasn't feeling like shit. Just touching her poor arm was a case of pins and needles gone crazy. Elle reached up to dab at her lip that still bled. "Happy now?"

"Amused, at least," he wheezed at his next laugh. He figured that he ought to be deciding what he was going to do about her, and then he was struck with an idea. Fuck it if he was too much of a sentimental coot to kill the bitch or dice up her face; he could at least bother her slow and bad while he was around again, "Sit down, Elle." 

While they made no immediate grabs for her, a number of chains slinked to life on the sandy ground, twisting like snakes and watching her as closely as possible for them being inanimate objects.

"I'm not a dog." If she sat, there'd be a chance she would not be able to get up again. Stubborn bitch that she was, she was smart and mistrusting. The reappearance of Budd's new toys was not helping. 

"'Bitch' is close enough. Didn't you ever look up explicative in the dictionary when you were little?" He let out an exasperated breath, then, "Why you always gotta' make things hard?" Like they had previously the chains shot for her, two to her legs to trip her up and one on the arm that wasn't broken. "S’it 'please' you want? Please sit down." The chains tightened, tugging just slightly, "Sit down, or you get even more fucked up."

Elle actually trembled. She could feel the weight and tension from three sides. As a reminder, if she could even forget, the wounded arm swung a little. "O..okay. I'll sit."

"Good girl," he pressed her shoulder lightly, as if to assist. The chains eased in their pulling, but they remained enough to restrict move of her moving, "Ain't gonna kill you, or nothing," The chains on her legs joined below her knees, and Budd kneeled before her, pressing down on her shins to keep her from kicking, "No funny business, alright?" He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of this before, really. 

The chains didn't need to be pulling on her; she tensed up on her own. It was all she could do. She came to sit down slowly, not meeting his face. Definitely not wanting to see how tickled he was by this. "Kinda hard to do anything. I'm flattered you're taking this so far."

"Aw," it was more of a grossed-out sound than a sentiment, "Well, ain't that precious?" He tugged her bare feet forwards, looking carefully at them for a moment before he grinned quickly, clutching at one of her ankles, and sliced a shallow cut on the bottom on her right foot. The left, of course, followed suit, and he stood, stepping back again, laughing lightly to himself, as if he'd just remembered something funny. 

"A-ah! What the shit did you do that for?" If he wasn't in control of a sharp object, if she wasn't completely bound up, her feet would be in his face repeatedly smashing in his stupid, laughing face.

"You're the one that didn't wear shoes," as if that explained it all. Fact of the matter was that she was in the middle of the beach, completely covered in sand. Frankly, he couldn't figure why she'd ask about his motives concerning that last move. 

"God, Elle, you're sitting in the fucking sand..." He trailed off for a moment, "Well, bluntly, I'm just going to leave you here. Good luck following me on them feet and with that arm." After all, it was still hard to crawl with a broken arm, "Meanwhile, gasp and shock, I know the location of your humble abode. How's that sound, darlin'? Fun for the whole fuckin' family."

Elle kept her face as neutral as she could. "Do this, and you'll get my injuries back in ten fold. It's not a promise. It's fact." Whether or not he'd have friends or connections to counter this, she didn't know. But her only comfort in this moment was that a lot of people would be angry, not just herself. 

Luke... Jan... She had become sloppy. Old days would have had her moving every few weeks. The City had lulled her into thinking she was safe. "I didn't know this'd be a family affair. Last I checked I only killed one dumb fucker."

"Ah, but see," he made a fact like he was correcting an error of fact on her part, "The dumb fucker you killed was <i>me</i>, Elle, and you just went on a fuckin' rant to me about how I ain't a right guy." 

Truth be told, he probably didn't know enough to just be wandering into Elle's space. He could let her think, at least, though, or use her fear of harm to these loved-ones, sorry as they were, to his advantage. "Keep them safe, baby, and don't go home like a good wife. Sound good?"

“Just gonna leave me here, what a guy.” Great timing too, the sand was heating under the sun. The tide was heading out. She was a good distance from nice grass. This wasn’t death but damn he could make a bad situation even more unpleasant. “Looks like you’re out to prove that the right guy is about somewhere.” 

She hoped to God, Buddha or whoever was willing to listen that he’d leave already before her own tongue did her in. Without  physical or personal weapons, it was the very last weapon she was wielding. Anger and pain were dulling her thinking.

Budd remained standing over her a few moments; he tilted the wide brimmed cowboy hat up over his head as he crouched. She was hopping mad, tense and coiled with no release. He loved seeing her like this. “Darlin’ you best not worry about the wrong or right guy. Fact is I’m here. An’ you,” he reached out and grasped her chin, forcing eye contact, “gotta deal cuz I may not wanna play nice next time.” He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers. 

He pushed her from his grasp, not putting it past Elle to bite him. “Take care, Ms. Driver.” And he turned, walking away across the sand whistling to himself a tune in bits.

She stayed sitting, waiting until she couldn’t see him anymore. By then the chains were long gone. Her mouth was in a deep set frown as she rubbed away moisture from her cheek with little patience for it. As the California Mountain Snake walked on her knees, ruining a perfectly good pair of pants, she began to organize her thoughts with indifference. There’d be a time for her to let this all crash over her head. Not now.