tampered | (no subject)

Her father had told her, time and time again, concentrate on the matter at hand, regardless if the situation could scare you shitless. Remember, panicking was for pussies. It's this mantra she recites in her head as she slinks across shadowed alleyways, bending and jumping across rooftops and ladders, sliding across building walls-- all to survey this foreign city. In some ways, it looked like New York City. But unless somehow she's manifested awesome transportation powers, which was frankly impossible, then that one step away from Kick-Ass shouldn't have brought her to a bunch of trashcans.

Falling on top of them? Impossible.

It's the impossibility of it all that keeps her nerves on end. Fear, she doesn't want to call it because Mindy Macready doesn't get scared. But adrenaline is driving her movements hard, smoothing over whatever injuries she had sustained from her encounter with D'Amico, forcing her to keep an alert eye out for anyone. Someone that might explain to her where the fuck she is. How she got here, or even if they were involved.

Unfortunately, the alley route Eddie takes to his seedy joint is a path less traveled. Besides him, these streets are devoid of souls. This means that when Mindy spots him, crouching behind the shadow of a laundromat, he's the first on her hit list. The only one, really. With a half a second to gather herself, she dashes across the darkened street in a flash of purple, cape catching in the air as she uses the ground as a launching point for mid-air flip. Palms pushing against hard concrete, a flip to gather momentum, and then a direct kick to Eddie's neck to stun. Or force him against the ground. Either would work.

It's funny how over fifty years of beating up assholes in back alleys pays off. Most people wouldn't hear the thumping, or see the flash of purple, but Eddie isn't just anyone - he's the Comedian, and his instincts are perfect. He was just expecting someone taller, considering the flash of purple; so when he dodges out of the way and moves into a fighting stance, he has to do a slight double take to see the tiny figure that just barely managed to hit him.

Okay this can't be curse.

For one thing; Eddie can register shape, size, and clothing in a second, a trick he picked up after years of crime busting, and this is a kid.

A kid dressed in a skirt.

Actually, he wouldn't put that past a de-aged Veidt, but Veidt wasn't that good as a teenager, so he wouldn't be that good as a little kid. Eddie moves to catch the little brat, but he wouldn't hesitate to hurt her if she struggled too hard or hurt him. The kick was good. Let's see what else the kid has.

Whoever this was, he was good. That wasn't the dodge of a lucky man, that was a dodge of a man with honed reflexes. D'Amico had proved a challenge beyond her past experiences, and she had nearly died because of it. Without a weapon to bolster her defenses, add in her decreased performance from her pre-existing injuries, and she is facing one hell of a fight.

Thankfully, she isn't out to kill this man. Doesn't mean she wasn't going to duke it out with all her might. (Maybe panic was a silent factor in it.)

Mindy's without words for now, focused rather on her next move. Her greatest strength is her agility, and it's in another flash that she runs forward, once again leaping in the air with a kick to aim at his chest. She keeps a gloved hand ready for a punch to the face, if timing allows her to slip that in.

Don't judge from appearance, Eddie. And besides, she's wearing pants underneath that skirt.

She better be wearing pants. Eddie might be a rapist, an asshole, and a murderer, but he isn't a pedophile.

Whoever this kid is, she's got speed and agility, and she's not giving up. There's definitely something admirable about that. The getup makes Eddie register her automatically in his head - mask - and he wonders vaguely whose kid she is. Even with all the purple, she can't be Veidt's, unless the fag went and test-tubed her up.

Eddie doesn't even want to follow that line of thought.

She aims the kick and he grabs her foot and twists it away, tossing her back into the alley. Okay, this isn't a fair fight - she might be more agile than he is, but he outweighs her by at least one hundred and fifty pounds. He wants to see if she'll try again.

The Comedian always did like a good laugh.

The affinity for purple is not a genetic predisposition. Or at least, it isn't inherited directly. But no, she's not a creature of your worst nightmares, Eddie. She's 100% organically grown.

Eddie's toss has enough force to send her sprawling hard against the concrete; hard enough for her to elicit a small gasp. Besides her size and stature, that small voice is the only other detail that doesn't belie her true age. It's the closest she will ever come to crying.

"You cunt," she growls out. A mark of her anger, and it's suiting that her first words to the Comedian would involve an expletive. It's Mindy's style, just as it's her style not to give up-- though it may seem like the opposite case. Retreating to the shadows of a building bordering the alley, it appears as though she's had enough. But appearance has little to do with reality in terms of this little girl, and within a seconds of her apparent retreat, there's the loud shattering of a window. Little glass slivers rain down in a clear shower upon the impact of her gloved fist; it's the jagged, large pieces that concern her.

Hit-Girl steps out of the shadows, this time, to deliver four dagger like shards in swift momentum. One follows after another, each targeting a different area of the Comedian. If she accidentally hits a major artery, then...

Oh well.

Edited 2010-05-21 00:34 (UTC)

And she's got a mouth on her. "Actually, kid," he replies right away, "it's 'you cock' or 'you asshole.'" Eddie has no qualms about teaching kids the right way to swear. After all, it's not like she's some kind of innocent little girl.

Makeshift weapons; interesting. He dodges three, but one, one manages to skim across his already scarred cheek. It's not a deep wound, or really much of a painful one, but Eddie fucking hates getting cuts on his face.

It's surprising to most people just how fast Eddie Blake can actually move. Maybe it's his weight, or his build, or his age, but he's a fast son of a bitch; faster than a lot of the masks, anyway. That, plus his years of experience, make grabbing the girl, turning her, pinning her arms behind her back and pushing her chest-forward against a wall easy. He holds her with his weight and with his strength.

"All right kid," he says, his voice deep, "You tell me your name, and I'll consider forgiving you for cutting my face."

He probably won't do anything but buy her a burger, but this has to happen first. He likes her spunk, her attitude and her training. That counts for a lot.

"I said 'cunt' on purpose, you cunt," she hisses back, despite being in this precarious situation with her body pinned against the wall. She'll fight to the death, even if it's a fighting for the secrecy of her true identity. She didn't become a masked crime-fighter for fun.

"Hit-Girl."

It's the only shard of information she gives him, before forcing her head to the side. A decent enough angle to take a peek at her captor; a good enough range and position to spit in his face.

Edited 2010-05-21 01:11 (UTC)

He manages to avoid that one; it's easy enough to see coming. He does it by turning and slamming her back into the wall; the spit flies harmlessly over his shoulder. It's such a casual movement, and he doesn't even sweat. He pins her again.

"The Comedian," he tells her. As long as they're exchanging aliases.

"You got someone here watching you, Hit-Girl? A parent, a sibling, a handler? Maybe a monkey trainer?" Ha-ha, that's a terrible joke. But Eddie isn't in any rush. "Or are you some punk who's read too many comic books?"

There's another small gasp as she's slammed back this time around. The curl of her lip and narrowing of her eyes, the only features discernible behind the mask, retain the impression of her anger. Showing apprehension or fear would be like giving up, even in a position like this.

"You're not very funny," she adds dryly, mostly at the monkey trainer line. At least Eddie agrees that it's terrible. But the question he asks probes at her initial reason for attacking the other in the first place, before it dissolved into pure conflict.

"This isn't New York City."

She's not going to admit to complete ignorance of her surroundings; she's not going to ask the Comedian for information. There's too much pride in this half-pint. Instead, he could derive her question from her statement.

"I'm out of practice." He doesn't move, just holds her, firmly, but not in a way that could actually hurt her. The benefit of knowing how much pain someone can handle is the ability to not dish it out, either. He wonders if this little girl knows that with a twist of his wrist, he could break hers.

"Nope." He ponders this for a second. "I'm going to let you down, and if you attack me, I'll slam your face into the pavement so hard you'll feel it in your asshole." That might not make anatomical sense, but he has the feeling it's the kind of simile that this girl might understand.

"Then I'll explain everything, you got it?"

Oh, Mindy does realize her vulnerability; how easily the small bones of her wrist could crack with the simple twist of his hand. There's a good reason for why she's had ample training in a vast array of firearms and weaponry. Not all grown men could be knocked into walls, and skill aside, her frame was still that of a young girl. If she had either her spear or a loaded gun with her at the time, she's sure that the fight with D'Amico would have progressed much more smoothly in her favor.

To kill her, the Comedian could claim defense as victim and her as initiator. Yet, in the pressure of his hold, she doesn't sense the intent of a killer. Years of training have taught her to gauge movement, to judge others' actions to decide her own retaliation, and with this skill she knows that the Comedian is not her enemy, for now. As a proper patron of paranoia, Mindy doesn't relax, not moving to struggle against him, not allowing her muscles and nerves to loosen. People are liars and actors, and who knows if this man might suddenly change his mind.

"That doesn't even make sense, dumbass," she replies. There's a lag of a quarter of a minute before her response. Mindy is trying to figure out the logistics of that simile. The incomprehensible logistics. In other words, this attack from the Comedian was successful as amusement pulls at the corner of her words, brightening slightly the snap back of sarcasm.

The Comedian turns again, and another slam into the wall. "It's not supposed to," he says, grinning. This kid has spirit, Eddie likes that. It reminds him of his own daughter, a little, only she's not as bitter towards. The banter here is purely for the sake of the encounter, something that Eddie can appreciate. "So answer the question, Hit-Girl. I may even be willing to buy you a burger."

Only Eddie would make an offer like that to a little girl who attempted to kill him, but then he's seen a lot in his old age but he's never seen anything like this. He takes interest. Besides, catching her now means saving trouble later if Dan or worse, Adrian, were to find her.

They wouldn't know how to handle a kid like this.

She wouldn't be Mindy Macready without that spunk. An ounce less and she wouldn't have been the vicious little thing she is now. It takes a certain amount of fervor and dedication to become a real masked crime fighter, as Eddie probably knows. And not counting idiots like Red Mist and Kick Ass, though there was potential in the green-suited one.

"As long as you don't give me a reason," Mindy forces out. With her hands free, at least she could protect herself if the dumbass was a liar. She's learned from experience that the more forthcoming a person, the less fluff stacked between words, the higher chance he or she was telling the truth. Not that Hit-Girl would trust anyone without proper acquaintance and examination. "I won't hurt you."

Let's face it, Dan would be way too soft for her. Adrian? Well, he was Adrian. That should be reason enough. Besides, she's starting to take a liking to this old man. He was louder, harsher than her father, but there was something assuring about it. She didn't like dumbasses who minced their words.

He drops her then and steps back, knowing that she is more than capable of landing on her feet. "No, you won't," he assures her, and takes her in. She can't possibly top five feet - being that short can give someone an advantage in a firefight, people rarely aim lower than their own chest unless they're aiming for knees. She's got that ridiculous purple wig on, but there have been worse costumes in the day (fuck, Eddie's worn worse costumes, in the day) and he can tell she's tough. She just took three slams into a wall without whining, after all. More than Eddie can say for a lot of people.

Eddie nods his head towards his favorite dive. The perk of the place is that they won't give him shit for bringing in a kid; to give him shit they would have care, and they don't. "Come on kid," he says. "Who taught you to fight? Your dad?" It's a guess: Sally may have pushed Laurie into it, but she was the only woman he knew that would have done something like that.

And Eddie assume right, as she lands on her feet with ease. Mindy's new freedom has her taking a step back, perching one hand against her waist just to be cocky. In the worst of situations, she wouldn't mind fighting dirty and using her height for a perfect vantage point. But this wasn't the worst of situations, unless patties and ketchup turned out to be secretly lethal.

"Who else do you think," she snarks back. Her voice is more playful this time around, as she allows herself to trust the old man for now. Making enemies right away in a new city... country, wherever this was, wasn't the smartest thing. And he was turning out to be potentially awesome.

Never mind the fact that she was hungry.

"My dadd- my father was the best." It's too late to fix the past tense was it slips, so she doesn't make a move to correct it, continuing on silently a few steps behind the Comedian.

Eddie doesn't remark on the slip, he just pulls a cigar from his pocket and lights it. "Well he did a good job on you," he tells her. "You could use some sharpening up, but you drew blood, that's not a joke, kid." He holds open the door for a second longer than he usually would before letting go and takes her over to his usual table.

"This place is the City," he tells her, because he figures she's just arrived. "No one knows why you come in, no real way out. People are from different worlds, or some shit like that, but it doesn't make most of them any less of idiots." He blows the smoke haphazardly; it's not like the Comedian cares if she coughs or not. "Not too many masks, though. A few."

She brims with pride at that remark, evident as she continues to warm up to Eddie. It's pride toward her father's ability as much as her own; for she was a testament to his, a legacy that would continue past his own death. Mindy would make sure of that.

There's a smirk for him as she takes the seat across. "You should try me on another day," she says, "There would be more than blood, I promise." Now under the examination of the diner's light, the dried blood on her face and the darkening of a bruise beneath that is unmistakable. Too dried to be Eddie's fault, too fresh to have been too long ago. The bullet hole on her chest is hardly inconspicuous, either.

"There are idiots everywhere, it's no fucking surprise," she has to pause, attempting to parse the information just given to her. Different worlds? Teleportation's looking as good an excuse as anything else. "How did we get here? Where the hell are we? Why does this place have such a stupid name?"

Another pause.

"Are you high?"

As vicious as she was, there was still a child underneath all of that. The peppering of questions isn't that odd.

At least this kid isn't stupid. A good question - are you high - at least it's logical. "I'm not high," Eddie says simply, ordering a couple of burgers and a beer for himself, telling her to get whatever she wants to drink. Really, if she asked for a burger too, he wouldn't stop her. Responsibility only goes so far with Edward Blake.

Now, examining her under the light, he sees the blood and the wounds and he notes them in a methodical way. She's been in a fight, and recently. One not with him.

"Teleport, blue men, fuck, the a-bomb, or death, who knows. Point is we're here, and the people in charge don't give a shit. Mostly they keep quiet." He smirks. "The name's just the name. Call it whatever you like, really." He takes another long drag. He'll explain curses later, if he even bothers at all. He might just let her read that one in the guide. "As for why we're here..." he shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."

She orders a burger and a strawberry milkshake. Hey, he offered the invitation, and in this situation taking full advantage of his offer was the smart thing to do.

"That's impossible. People can't teleport and don't tell me you believe blue aliens exist," she argues. Combating the illogical with logic was a dead end and she knows it. It's just ironic how the one little girl who didn't believe in fairy tales, magic, and technicolor unicorns is now facing something just as impossible. She hesitates slightly before speaking again, caught on the last option on his list. "I'm not dead. It can't be that."

She couldn't be.

Eddie grins and flick ash away from the head of his cigar. "Blue aliens? No, I'm not stupid." Actually he hasn't met any aliens, and though he'd like to think that Doc was one, he knows better. After all, he remembers seeing pictures of Doc before the accident.

"You're not dead. You've got a pulse," he says. Clearly the kid's worried about it. "And there's a ton of fucking weird shit that happens here. So you might want to get the word impossible out of your head right now or you're going to be one sad sorry bitch before the end of the week."

They bring the drinks and Eddie takes a sip of his beer. "You're not stupid, kid, so think it through. Where do you think you are? Disneyland?"

Taking a sip of her own milkshake, she paints a nice picture of a kid who missed Halloween by half a year. Good thing know one gives damn in this joint, or in this entire City.

"So we're in a magical City full of idiots from other worlds. How the fuck do we get out, then?" Mindy doesn't ask as so much demand an answer. Illogical or not, there had to be an exit somewhere. "Every city has an exit."

Every City except an impossible city. While she doesn't go as far to accept it as truth, Mindy will accept Eddie's explanation as a stand-in until she finds something that fits. She'll be searching forever.

Eddie doesn't care what she looks like, really. He's had dinner with uglier masks. At least she doesn't smell like a dog took a crap on her.

"We don't get out, kid." He pauses. "That's not right either. The only way out is the way you came in. One day you'll be walking down the street or sitting on the crapper or you'll be killed, and bam, you're back in your world, no harm, no foul. I hear not even a second passes but fuck if I know if that's true." He takes another drink of his beer.

"There's a guide that explains all this, I can give you my old copy. Not like I need the thing anymore."

"You mean, we have to sit around for chance," she replies incredulously. Even if it didn't make sense, if that was the truth of this place then what could she do? It made less sense to sit around and question why when there were plans to be made. To figure out how she would temporarily make her home here. Secondly, to scout out the town and its residents. Who knew if there could be more people out there like Eddie, more people who she couldn't fight hand-to-hand and win.

First things first: weapons.

"Know where I can buy cartridges around here, Comedian?" Mindy says it as if she's discussing the weather. "Then you can give your guide."

She takes a bite out of her bigger, all the while, still ruminating on preparations.

Eddie sizes her up, then thinks, well, what the hell. It'll be good for a laugh, anyway, and the Comedian hasn't had many of those lately. "I buy my weapons off a dealer in the underground. But people won't deal with a kid, here, you'll need someone to run interference." He slides one of his three pistols across the table to her. "That'll do you for now. Not like you have the money until your first welfare check comes in anyway."

He takes a bite of his burger. He may have just given the girl a gun but the Comedian knows exactly how to disarm someone who is sitting at point blank range. That, and he's not exactly worried she'll shoot him. The kid needs a contact, and right now he's all she's got.

"You'd be better off going by your civilian ID until we can figure out what do do with you, kid, but that's just a suggestion."

Just handing someone a weapon, a relative stranger in this case, requires at least the smallest degree of trust. Mindy notes this as she accepts the pistol, turning it in her palm to judge both weight and model. Nothing she hadn't used before. Her misstep of meeting Eddie has somehow turned into good fortune.

"All right. This is great," she grins, happy to have a loaded weapon once again in her possession. "Thanks."

That's right, Mindy's already planning for Eddie to be her middle man if need be. Next on her list is her other weapon of choice; it's just the matter of money, but for now the pistol would do.

"I plan to. Can't go around as Hit-Girl all the time. " Which means that she would inevitably have to reveal herself to Eddie. Not here where other patrons of the restaurant could take a peek. "I came here like this. Not like I could change." Another sip of the shake, another bite of her burger. She's not asking to borrow money from him, not at all. (Maybe.)

He looks her over. He doesn't know any girls her age in the City - he doesn't usually pay attention to kids, so there's no one that he could get clothes off. Being a kid here must suck, Eddie thinks. "Sure thing," he says, polishing off his burger and taking drinks of his beer. What to do with this kid? Take her home? He has an extra room, it's not like he can't afford it.

But why the hell would he? He doesn't even like most kids, although this one is a smartass and a punk, which gives her points in his book, and she's not afraid.

And maybe seeing Laurie around is making him realize shit. Shit he doesn't like to realize. And Faith leaving didn't help.

"Okay kid, here's the deal. You can come home with me tonight, sleep on my couch, and tomorrow we'll get you set up with clothes and all the shit a girl like you needs to be a girl like you, and all the shit a mask needs to be a mask. You live with me until your dad or someone else shows up. Or I take you to the Welcome Center, and you pretend it was Halloween in your world at the door. Up to you." He takes a drink of his beer. "Either way, I'll help you out."

"I can take care of myself," she replies, rather pointedly. It's the same stance she took with Kick-Ass, her automatic rise to defense when it comes to her own independence. But Mindy knows in this City, at least for tonight, she needs somewhere to collect herself. Somewhere safe that didn't sound like an orphanage. Somewhere she could lessen her defenses at least for a short while. It had been one hell of a day.

"But I'll come with you tonight. It's late, and I like you." She flashes another grin at that, finally slipping the gun away and setting off to finish her burger. Mindy had thought she would be come home to an empty apartment tonight.

Funny how things work out.

Eddie smirks. Smart kid. He figures she can take care of herself; after all, she did manage to hold her own and against anyone else she probably would have done some serious damage. "All right, kid," he says, once she's done. "Tonight, we'll see were it goes from here."

He takes his final swig of beer. "Eddie Blake, by the way. If you call me Mr. Blake I'll break your nose."

"I wasn't planning on it, dumbass," she laughs. Don't think Mindy is gong to give up the chance to be a cocky little brat.

It's after he takes his last swig that she stands up, offering a glove hand across the table. They were on the same side, so it seemed.

"Mindy. Mindy Macready."

He gives her hand a firm shake. Good job, Blake, his head tells him. You made a deal with a five year old. It makes him grin, the skin twisting over his scar. He stands up, and nods to the door. "Let's go then."

He ditches a few stupidly colored coins on the table, and leads her home.