Post by Poison on May 16, 2016 6:28:57 GMT
New York City streets, broad daylight, middle of the afternoon, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the sounds of children at play drowned out by the noise and bustle of rush hour traffic. Sticks in hand, the four boys ran, cheering and screaming and laughing as their quarry hissed angrily and ran as fast as her little legs would carry her.
The children were playing, as the young often do, without any malice or cruelty in their hearts, yet the small creature fleeing their pursuit would beg to differ. The cat cried out as she reached the back alley wall, trying to jump from a nearby garbage can onto the wall behind. Instead, she slipped, toppling the trashcan and leaving her terrified and cornered. The children grinned at her, closing in, their intentions a mystery to the dirty-white Angora alley cat.
She disliked humans, the weird, large creatures that walked on two legs and only ever seemed to give her stress. Since the day they abandoned her litter in a cardboard box near a dumpster, she wanted nothing to do with them. Her mouth opened and she hissed furiously once again, trying to scare the larger creatures away, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wasn’t working now.
They wanted to catch her, to tug on her legs, to play with her and touch her and poke her, and pull at her ears and whiskers and tail. To them, it was a game, but terror made the kitten’s heart race, fearing they would kill her, eat her, beat her for fun. Slitted eyes glared at the creatures as she arched her back and prepared to defend herself the only way she knew how…
"Hey, you little bastards!" came a voice from the back of the alley. The tallest human figure approached, seeming to tower above the others. This human bore a lot of skin, and had two, very large organs on her chest. She yelled at the smaller ones again, making a fist and gritting her teeth as she brought a leg up threateningly, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Leave the cat alone before I kick your little asses! And you can go ahead and tell your mommies I did that, I'll kick your asses a second time in front of them! Get out of here!"
And all at once, the children fled, the boys knowing better to get into a fight with an adult (they assumed to be) old enough to be their mother. They cussed and complained at the barking woman in the peaked hat, but they complied all the same, heading off to go find something else to chase or find another game to play. It wasn't like Poison gave a damn.
The cat looked at her benefactor, her blue eyes matching the stray's. At first, she kept her defensive posture, but the human didn't approach. Instead, she planted her back against an alley wall and took a deep breath, shaking her head of long, spiky pink hair. "Jesus. What kind of game is that? Don't kids play tag anymore?" she asked herself aloud, palms up as she shrugged.
"Well, I guess I got my good deed of the month out of the way," said the long-legged woman in the denim Daisy Dukes, her hands reaching to her hips as her red high heels clacked against the concrete floor and she faced the exit of the alley.
The stray began to relax herself a bit, understanding, at the least, that this creature had acted in her defense. She approached slowly, cautiously on her pink paw pads, fluffy, white tail in the air. This human smelled pleasant, at least, and didn't inspire fear. Just as she prepared to leave, the kitten pressed her face against her savior's calf and mewled the closest thing to a "thank you" that she knew.
The simple act startled the tall woman, but her pink-colored lips split into a smile at the kitten. She turned and knelt down before her, long, finely-manicured, pink nails pressed to her soft face. "Aww, are you thanking me, cutie? Aren't you just the cutest thing?"
Suddenly, big mistake, the Angora found herself held aloft by the human from beneath her forelegs. Panic set in quickly, but the cat knew just what to do. Raising a claw, she struck true and hit her mark, the woman's face, with her sharp, white claws.
For a moment, Poison seemed stunned, as though what just happened couldn't possible have happened. She blinked as the stinging pain spread like heat across her beautiful face, now defaced by the cat's scratch.
Her temper rose, and she let out an angry growl, "You damn, stupid cat!"
Perhaps it was the Angora kitten that made the mistake, as she found herself unceremoniously pelted onto the floor. Fortunately, the toss was meant to jostle and punish, not to harm, and the cat quickly got to her feet and scurried off between the woman's legs and toward the alley exit.
Poison raised a fist in anger, running out of the alley to get a last look at the cat that dared to deface her face — and after she'd so kindly rescued it, even!
"And stay lost you -" her words cut off as she gasped and lunged forward as quickly as she could.
A little-known fact: cats, particularly young cats, are not terribly familiar with automobiles or traffic. A more experienced and worldly cat, perhaps, could write a lengthy dissertation on the finer functions of a motor vehicle (had he or she hands with which to write), but this Angora kitten could not.
Woefully ignorant was she of the wonders and dangers of crossing a busy street when the light turned green and cars began to move.
Fortunately for her, Poison DeVille, while many unsavory things, loved animals (so long as they didn't bite, scratch, or otherwise injure her — especially her beautiful face). The pink-haired woman dove into the street as the car approached, swiftly picking the cat into her arms and hugging it against her white tank top in a single motion.
For a woman in heels, she ran surprisingly fast and there was strength in that body, suggested by her toned abdominal muscles. She didn't stop until they reached the other end of the street, the cars now flying past. Many honks and cries of "What are you, lady, some kind of idiot!?" and "You goddamned moron, stay outta the road!" and even one "Get a fucking brain, you stupid cunt!" met her ears as she panted with the stray Angora held tight.
Too tight.
Grateful as she was, this cat simply could not tolerate being held by a human. Creatures that yelled at her and chased her for little more reason than speaking at night and trying desperately to feed herself. Did they not know that these keen survival instincts saved her from certain death? No, humans were unconscionable!
Of course, scratching Poison's face a second time was probably not the best option, either. This time, the woman's angry scream of pain came out immediately, and she not only threw the cat's body, she punted her into the air of the sidewalk.
And where should this noble alley cat land but on the face of yet another human. Panicked from the injury, the cat scratched and bit furiously at whatever unfortunate person she happened to land on. All the while, Poison gripped her stomach and started laughing at the cat's expense.
What nerve, this human had! How dare she? How dare she laugh at such a proud, noble, and majestic beast as this Angora!? Though she stalked the alleys as a stray, a cat is a cat, and a cat always has pride!
And with that pride and dignity intact, she fell from the face of the angry pedestrian, his face lined with cuts and scrapes and bites, his ears assailed with screeches and hisses of outrage. He didn't seem to understand the cat's position, nor did he seem pleased with the woman who kicked her at him.
"What the hell, lady?" began the black-haired man, thick brows furrowed as he roughly grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck. He approached threateningly, his free hand reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and sliding its contents up his wrist.
"Is this your fucking cat!?" he demanded, pulling the sunglasses on the neck of his white wife-beater and putting them onto his angular face.
The lenses seemed to be big purely to try to hide the fact that his forehead took up the better half of his face, the rest of which was host to a small, rectangular scrap of beard and a badly-grown mustache. His teeth looked bigger and yellower than they should have been, his breath stank from booze and not brushing.
Most concerning was the jacket and the motion of his hand, as well as the way he slicked back his greasy mess of black hair into something not quite significant enough to be a mullet yet too long to be considered a short hairstyle. Poison swore she could see a tiny rattail hairstyle in the back, too. Disgusting.
His body odor wasn't any better, she could tell something was amiss with the man just from it. She could smell a hint of blood from the hand he placed behind his back, there must have been a weapon in his sleeve. Did he intend to attack her then and there in retaliation?
It wouldn't be a stretch, going by how his blackhead-marked nostrils flared and how the veins in his neck seemed to pop with anger.
"Is this your fucking cat!?" he asked again.
Poison bit her lip and looked to the cat, who looked back to her. What could she do other than cover for her?
"Yes, that's my Rikki," she said, giving the cat the first name that popped into her head. Immediately, her stance changed, her hands folding before her pants as she pushed her cleavage up for him. "Thank you so much for finding her for me!" she exclaimed.
The man looked confused, but that probably wouldn't be the first time this knuckle-dragging grease-head felt lost. He knew damn well that she kicked the cat at him, but now he began to doubt what he saw.
Poison smiled amicably, pouting her lips slightly to show off their glossy sheen, her mascara-laden blue eyes looking up to him as she bowed herself lower, both to make herself seem apologetic and give him a better look down her shirt.
"I don't know what I'd do without her," she lied, approaching the man with an exaggerated swing of her hips. It seemed to be working, he definitely seemed less angry, which meant his pulse was racing for a different reason.
"She ran away from me and — oh my gosh! She didn't hurt you did she? I am so sorry, she's usually such a nice kitten." The scratches on her own face twinged a bit and she bit back a sharp glare as she gathered the cat into her arms, the scruffy gangster calmly handing her over.
"Oh! Hey, these little love bites? That ain't nothin' doll!" he replied, changing his tune very quickly as he scratched the back of his hair, rat tail between his fingers. "No, yeah, hey, sorry if I came off a bit rude back there. It's just, you know, I'm sensitive about my face and it sorta looked like you, uh…"
He stopped before implying that the woman kicked the cat at him. Letting the cat down to avoid the risk of being bitten again, the scantily-clad woman decided to goad him a bit. Biting her lip, she stood upright and pressed a shiny, pink fingernail to her cheek, "Looked like I what?"
"Ahahaha! Oh, nothing! Don't worry about it, glad I could help out! But, hey, if it ain't too much trouble, maybe you could tell me your name?" Poison smiled warmly as her deception worked.
"Becky," she answered. No way was she giving this guy her actual name. And if he didn't already recognize who she was from her days as an actress, he never would. "Becky, huh? Hey, I'm a busy guy, hope this ain't too forward but I've got places to be in a bit. You got a cell phone in those sexy shorts of yours?"
Poison shook her head, prompting him to reach inside his jacket pocket for a piece of crumpled up napkin and a pen. He tore the napkin in two, "Name's Bret, and this… is my number."
He winked at her. She suppressed the urge to gag.
Taking the other half of the napkin, she scribbled down a quick set of numbers that would probably connect him to someone's phone in New York, just not hers. She handed it over to him and winked back, to which he licked his lips. Once again, she resisted rolling her eyes.
"So, I'll call you up sometime, alright, you and me c-ARGH!"
Poison's smile shattered, she looked to the source of the man's pained, angered groan and saw the cat. This goddamned cat bit him! Everything was going fine until now! Why? Why!?
Blood trickled from the greasy-faced thug's hairy leg. It seemed she liked being manhandled a moment ago even less than being held by Poison. She bit him hard and deliberately, likely as a form of vengeance for the myriad assaults upon her pride and honor as a cat that she'd suffered today… and because she knew Poison would retaliate if she bit her instead.
At once, Bret slid the switchblade down his wrist, prepared to gut the stupid cat. He liked the "owner" but letting anything hurt him twice — even a stupid animal — just wasn't his style.
As soon as the shaft of the knife hit his palm, thumb pressed to flick the blade out, Poison's leg raised. She lashed out with a swift, pointed kick under his hand, sending the blade flying from his grasp and clattering to the floor.
Before the violent gangster could react to her sudden defense of the cat, the pink-haired woman's foot landed and the back of her other heel came straight for his face, the high heel striking his cheek as she sent him sideways to the floor. The fight, if it could be called that, was over in an instant, Bret's head forcefully bashed against the concrete and he swiftly lost consciousness.
In the middle of a semi-busy street, in broad daylight, Poison assaulted and knocked a man out. This neighborhood wasn't known for being in love with law enforcement, but they'd at least have questions for Bret later, and Poison wasn't interested in any of that.
Glancing at the cat, having saved "Rikki" for the third time today, Poison noticed that the animal now pawed at her leg, as though begging to be lifted up. Poison complied, scooping the horrible little creature up with a deep sigh and muttering a swear-laden complaint for all the trouble she caused.
And yet, as Poison walked with her new feline friend in her arms, this seeming magnet for bad luck, she felt a bit easier.
"You've got the same eyes as me," she said to the cat, looking down at that fluffy, white head with a smile. "And you've got awful luck, too. And you're a complete bitch. And you hate kids and mooks," she continued. The cat purred softly, falling asleep in the tall woman's strong arms.
With a chuckle, Poison remarked, "I think we're kindred spirits, Rikki."
The children were playing, as the young often do, without any malice or cruelty in their hearts, yet the small creature fleeing their pursuit would beg to differ. The cat cried out as she reached the back alley wall, trying to jump from a nearby garbage can onto the wall behind. Instead, she slipped, toppling the trashcan and leaving her terrified and cornered. The children grinned at her, closing in, their intentions a mystery to the dirty-white Angora alley cat.
She disliked humans, the weird, large creatures that walked on two legs and only ever seemed to give her stress. Since the day they abandoned her litter in a cardboard box near a dumpster, she wanted nothing to do with them. Her mouth opened and she hissed furiously once again, trying to scare the larger creatures away, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wasn’t working now.
They wanted to catch her, to tug on her legs, to play with her and touch her and poke her, and pull at her ears and whiskers and tail. To them, it was a game, but terror made the kitten’s heart race, fearing they would kill her, eat her, beat her for fun. Slitted eyes glared at the creatures as she arched her back and prepared to defend herself the only way she knew how…
"Hey, you little bastards!" came a voice from the back of the alley. The tallest human figure approached, seeming to tower above the others. This human bore a lot of skin, and had two, very large organs on her chest. She yelled at the smaller ones again, making a fist and gritting her teeth as she brought a leg up threateningly, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Leave the cat alone before I kick your little asses! And you can go ahead and tell your mommies I did that, I'll kick your asses a second time in front of them! Get out of here!"
And all at once, the children fled, the boys knowing better to get into a fight with an adult (they assumed to be) old enough to be their mother. They cussed and complained at the barking woman in the peaked hat, but they complied all the same, heading off to go find something else to chase or find another game to play. It wasn't like Poison gave a damn.
The cat looked at her benefactor, her blue eyes matching the stray's. At first, she kept her defensive posture, but the human didn't approach. Instead, she planted her back against an alley wall and took a deep breath, shaking her head of long, spiky pink hair. "Jesus. What kind of game is that? Don't kids play tag anymore?" she asked herself aloud, palms up as she shrugged.
"Well, I guess I got my good deed of the month out of the way," said the long-legged woman in the denim Daisy Dukes, her hands reaching to her hips as her red high heels clacked against the concrete floor and she faced the exit of the alley.
The stray began to relax herself a bit, understanding, at the least, that this creature had acted in her defense. She approached slowly, cautiously on her pink paw pads, fluffy, white tail in the air. This human smelled pleasant, at least, and didn't inspire fear. Just as she prepared to leave, the kitten pressed her face against her savior's calf and mewled the closest thing to a "thank you" that she knew.
The simple act startled the tall woman, but her pink-colored lips split into a smile at the kitten. She turned and knelt down before her, long, finely-manicured, pink nails pressed to her soft face. "Aww, are you thanking me, cutie? Aren't you just the cutest thing?"
Suddenly, big mistake, the Angora found herself held aloft by the human from beneath her forelegs. Panic set in quickly, but the cat knew just what to do. Raising a claw, she struck true and hit her mark, the woman's face, with her sharp, white claws.
For a moment, Poison seemed stunned, as though what just happened couldn't possible have happened. She blinked as the stinging pain spread like heat across her beautiful face, now defaced by the cat's scratch.
Her temper rose, and she let out an angry growl, "You damn, stupid cat!"
Perhaps it was the Angora kitten that made the mistake, as she found herself unceremoniously pelted onto the floor. Fortunately, the toss was meant to jostle and punish, not to harm, and the cat quickly got to her feet and scurried off between the woman's legs and toward the alley exit.
Poison raised a fist in anger, running out of the alley to get a last look at the cat that dared to deface her face — and after she'd so kindly rescued it, even!
"And stay lost you -" her words cut off as she gasped and lunged forward as quickly as she could.
A little-known fact: cats, particularly young cats, are not terribly familiar with automobiles or traffic. A more experienced and worldly cat, perhaps, could write a lengthy dissertation on the finer functions of a motor vehicle (had he or she hands with which to write), but this Angora kitten could not.
Woefully ignorant was she of the wonders and dangers of crossing a busy street when the light turned green and cars began to move.
Fortunately for her, Poison DeVille, while many unsavory things, loved animals (so long as they didn't bite, scratch, or otherwise injure her — especially her beautiful face). The pink-haired woman dove into the street as the car approached, swiftly picking the cat into her arms and hugging it against her white tank top in a single motion.
For a woman in heels, she ran surprisingly fast and there was strength in that body, suggested by her toned abdominal muscles. She didn't stop until they reached the other end of the street, the cars now flying past. Many honks and cries of "What are you, lady, some kind of idiot!?" and "You goddamned moron, stay outta the road!" and even one "Get a fucking brain, you stupid cunt!" met her ears as she panted with the stray Angora held tight.
Too tight.
Grateful as she was, this cat simply could not tolerate being held by a human. Creatures that yelled at her and chased her for little more reason than speaking at night and trying desperately to feed herself. Did they not know that these keen survival instincts saved her from certain death? No, humans were unconscionable!
Of course, scratching Poison's face a second time was probably not the best option, either. This time, the woman's angry scream of pain came out immediately, and she not only threw the cat's body, she punted her into the air of the sidewalk.
And where should this noble alley cat land but on the face of yet another human. Panicked from the injury, the cat scratched and bit furiously at whatever unfortunate person she happened to land on. All the while, Poison gripped her stomach and started laughing at the cat's expense.
What nerve, this human had! How dare she? How dare she laugh at such a proud, noble, and majestic beast as this Angora!? Though she stalked the alleys as a stray, a cat is a cat, and a cat always has pride!
And with that pride and dignity intact, she fell from the face of the angry pedestrian, his face lined with cuts and scrapes and bites, his ears assailed with screeches and hisses of outrage. He didn't seem to understand the cat's position, nor did he seem pleased with the woman who kicked her at him.
"What the hell, lady?" began the black-haired man, thick brows furrowed as he roughly grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck. He approached threateningly, his free hand reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and sliding its contents up his wrist.
"Is this your fucking cat!?" he demanded, pulling the sunglasses on the neck of his white wife-beater and putting them onto his angular face.
The lenses seemed to be big purely to try to hide the fact that his forehead took up the better half of his face, the rest of which was host to a small, rectangular scrap of beard and a badly-grown mustache. His teeth looked bigger and yellower than they should have been, his breath stank from booze and not brushing.
Most concerning was the jacket and the motion of his hand, as well as the way he slicked back his greasy mess of black hair into something not quite significant enough to be a mullet yet too long to be considered a short hairstyle. Poison swore she could see a tiny rattail hairstyle in the back, too. Disgusting.
His body odor wasn't any better, she could tell something was amiss with the man just from it. She could smell a hint of blood from the hand he placed behind his back, there must have been a weapon in his sleeve. Did he intend to attack her then and there in retaliation?
It wouldn't be a stretch, going by how his blackhead-marked nostrils flared and how the veins in his neck seemed to pop with anger.
"Is this your fucking cat!?" he asked again.
Poison bit her lip and looked to the cat, who looked back to her. What could she do other than cover for her?
"Yes, that's my Rikki," she said, giving the cat the first name that popped into her head. Immediately, her stance changed, her hands folding before her pants as she pushed her cleavage up for him. "Thank you so much for finding her for me!" she exclaimed.
The man looked confused, but that probably wouldn't be the first time this knuckle-dragging grease-head felt lost. He knew damn well that she kicked the cat at him, but now he began to doubt what he saw.
Poison smiled amicably, pouting her lips slightly to show off their glossy sheen, her mascara-laden blue eyes looking up to him as she bowed herself lower, both to make herself seem apologetic and give him a better look down her shirt.
"I don't know what I'd do without her," she lied, approaching the man with an exaggerated swing of her hips. It seemed to be working, he definitely seemed less angry, which meant his pulse was racing for a different reason.
"She ran away from me and — oh my gosh! She didn't hurt you did she? I am so sorry, she's usually such a nice kitten." The scratches on her own face twinged a bit and she bit back a sharp glare as she gathered the cat into her arms, the scruffy gangster calmly handing her over.
"Oh! Hey, these little love bites? That ain't nothin' doll!" he replied, changing his tune very quickly as he scratched the back of his hair, rat tail between his fingers. "No, yeah, hey, sorry if I came off a bit rude back there. It's just, you know, I'm sensitive about my face and it sorta looked like you, uh…"
He stopped before implying that the woman kicked the cat at him. Letting the cat down to avoid the risk of being bitten again, the scantily-clad woman decided to goad him a bit. Biting her lip, she stood upright and pressed a shiny, pink fingernail to her cheek, "Looked like I what?"
"Ahahaha! Oh, nothing! Don't worry about it, glad I could help out! But, hey, if it ain't too much trouble, maybe you could tell me your name?" Poison smiled warmly as her deception worked.
"Becky," she answered. No way was she giving this guy her actual name. And if he didn't already recognize who she was from her days as an actress, he never would. "Becky, huh? Hey, I'm a busy guy, hope this ain't too forward but I've got places to be in a bit. You got a cell phone in those sexy shorts of yours?"
Poison shook her head, prompting him to reach inside his jacket pocket for a piece of crumpled up napkin and a pen. He tore the napkin in two, "Name's Bret, and this… is my number."
He winked at her. She suppressed the urge to gag.
Taking the other half of the napkin, she scribbled down a quick set of numbers that would probably connect him to someone's phone in New York, just not hers. She handed it over to him and winked back, to which he licked his lips. Once again, she resisted rolling her eyes.
"So, I'll call you up sometime, alright, you and me c-ARGH!"
Poison's smile shattered, she looked to the source of the man's pained, angered groan and saw the cat. This goddamned cat bit him! Everything was going fine until now! Why? Why!?
Blood trickled from the greasy-faced thug's hairy leg. It seemed she liked being manhandled a moment ago even less than being held by Poison. She bit him hard and deliberately, likely as a form of vengeance for the myriad assaults upon her pride and honor as a cat that she'd suffered today… and because she knew Poison would retaliate if she bit her instead.
At once, Bret slid the switchblade down his wrist, prepared to gut the stupid cat. He liked the "owner" but letting anything hurt him twice — even a stupid animal — just wasn't his style.
As soon as the shaft of the knife hit his palm, thumb pressed to flick the blade out, Poison's leg raised. She lashed out with a swift, pointed kick under his hand, sending the blade flying from his grasp and clattering to the floor.
Before the violent gangster could react to her sudden defense of the cat, the pink-haired woman's foot landed and the back of her other heel came straight for his face, the high heel striking his cheek as she sent him sideways to the floor. The fight, if it could be called that, was over in an instant, Bret's head forcefully bashed against the concrete and he swiftly lost consciousness.
In the middle of a semi-busy street, in broad daylight, Poison assaulted and knocked a man out. This neighborhood wasn't known for being in love with law enforcement, but they'd at least have questions for Bret later, and Poison wasn't interested in any of that.
Glancing at the cat, having saved "Rikki" for the third time today, Poison noticed that the animal now pawed at her leg, as though begging to be lifted up. Poison complied, scooping the horrible little creature up with a deep sigh and muttering a swear-laden complaint for all the trouble she caused.
And yet, as Poison walked with her new feline friend in her arms, this seeming magnet for bad luck, she felt a bit easier.
"You've got the same eyes as me," she said to the cat, looking down at that fluffy, white head with a smile. "And you've got awful luck, too. And you're a complete bitch. And you hate kids and mooks," she continued. The cat purred softly, falling asleep in the tall woman's strong arms.
With a chuckle, Poison remarked, "I think we're kindred spirits, Rikki."
