Post by KC on Jan 6, 2008 9:52:22 GMT 1
The pitter-patter of a one set of shoes came to a halt, an enclosure of two buildings merging to form a blockade. Soon after the stampede that had been following him slow to a stop, the members of the herd snorting in anger.
“C’mon guys, can’t we be civil about this? What’s a few bucks to you?” Meet Kenneth Frank Carole, age 16 and a native of San Francisco. Don’t let his soft exterior fool you, he uses it as a distraction when snatching the wallet from your pocket.
“Try a few hundred dickweed. And you’re going to pay with interest.” Enter George G, head honcho of the PS gang, better known as the poison serpents. They’re a small gang, fairly new to Hircine High in terms of status, are stick to mainly low-level drug pedaling and regular beatings over those of obviously weaker status. The members are mostly street hardened teenagers without a care in the world, believing that dying young is the best way to solidify their spot in the world.
“Now, now…” Stepping back KC raised both hands straight out, palms out in order to plead for forgiveness. “There’s gotta be a better way to solve this.” Rolling his left foot over a steel pole he pushed the tip of his shoe downwards to create a backwards spin in the pole. Digging his foot forward he cradled the pole up onto the top of his foot, into the grove created at the first joint of his toes before kicking his foot up slightly. Catching the pole in both hands he smirks softly, now feeling much more comfortable about his situation.
“Fuck that. Get’em!” Pocket knives and a few other miscellaneous items came into the Poison Serpents possession, bricks, steel rods, a piece of lumber or two… Yep, careful planning was needed in order to survive… To bad KC didn’t plan this.
--- Fifteen Minutes Ago ---
“Dirty money’s dirty money… Deep Breathe, deep breathe… Okay, you can do this.” Creeping out from behind a few crates KC tipped toed across the dirty concrete floor, heading toward the thrown aside bundle of cash left on the table opposite to the main entrance. From what he could tell most of the gang members were asleep, and the others that were ‘on guard’ were playing a game of pocket. The table of drugs and cash was about fifteen feet away, slightly cast away from the light above the table. With any luck KC wouldn’t even be spotted let alone heard, and they wouldn’t know about their decreasing funds until he was long gone.
Closer… Just a bit closer… Almost there… Just a few feet away and – SUCCESS! The cash that was wrapped with a cliché rubber band was in his possession. Now he just needed to make it back around the way he came and out the nearest exit. Well, only exit. The front entrance, the main entrance was the only set of doors that wasn’t boarded up or securely blocked with eighteen tons of crap piled in front of it.
Doing half a pirouette KC continued his tiptoed dance around the sleeping bodies, making his way toward the crates that would conceal his presence until he was gone. He was nearly there, only a few feet to go until he felt a snag on his pants. Looking down he saw the edge of his pants caught against a loose nail, a freaking nail of all things. Oh, how the cliché’s just kept on coming. Worse yet, he couldn’t kneel down all the way to pull himself free because he was lunging over the body of a fairly fat Mexican.
‘Great… What should I do?’
As he questioned his current predicament the heavyset man snorted, grunted, and then snored before rolling over, catching Ken in the back of the knee and pushing him forward into a staggering fall. The resounding crash seemed to last for years as KC landed with a twisting roll behind the crates. The sound of chairs scrapping against the ground came next, then the voices of confused and hostile drug peddlers. Standing up in a daze KC looked at the faces of death, all eight of them as they stared holes through his body – probably imagining where they’d like to shoot him.
“So, what’s the buy in?” Giving half a laugh he scratched the back of his head in bewildered amusement, all before booking it for the door. And thus, after a five-minute chase he found himself stuck in the alley.
“Look guys, I really don’t want to hurt you. Lets just call this insurance money.”
“That sounds fair.” Confusing rose from the faces of each and every follower, and that look was thrown back ten-fold by KC.
“Really?”
“No.”
‘Shit.’
Standing his ground KC blocked a two by four with the extended right end of his weapon before thrusting it forward, cracking the poison serpent in the chin before backing up. He was running out of space, but when it came to facing over-whelming odds he had to play it smart. Each move counted.
Keeping his right side forward he did a backhand motion, half pushing his ‘Bo staff’ to the right and locking a steel rod that had been swung for his head. Stepping in he dipped the front of the staff down before twisting it back over to the right and lifting up. He caught the back of the gang members right knee and pulled it up to his chest before continuing to push forward with a step, sending the wanna-be tough guy to his ass and into a comedic backward roll.
Looking up at the remaining members he couldn’t help but smirk, a reassuring smile that he had the advantage despite the numbers. A boast of self-confidence, a cocky attitude that was all a rye for his true intentions. He wanted to make them even angrier, make them rush in without thinking so that he could continue to pick them apart. Though, by the looks of things the last six seemed much more cautious about their approach. They would attack, that much was sure, made evident by the malice in their eyes.
‘Aw, shit.’
“C’mon guys, can’t we be civil about this? What’s a few bucks to you?” Meet Kenneth Frank Carole, age 16 and a native of San Francisco. Don’t let his soft exterior fool you, he uses it as a distraction when snatching the wallet from your pocket.
“Try a few hundred dickweed. And you’re going to pay with interest.” Enter George G, head honcho of the PS gang, better known as the poison serpents. They’re a small gang, fairly new to Hircine High in terms of status, are stick to mainly low-level drug pedaling and regular beatings over those of obviously weaker status. The members are mostly street hardened teenagers without a care in the world, believing that dying young is the best way to solidify their spot in the world.
“Now, now…” Stepping back KC raised both hands straight out, palms out in order to plead for forgiveness. “There’s gotta be a better way to solve this.” Rolling his left foot over a steel pole he pushed the tip of his shoe downwards to create a backwards spin in the pole. Digging his foot forward he cradled the pole up onto the top of his foot, into the grove created at the first joint of his toes before kicking his foot up slightly. Catching the pole in both hands he smirks softly, now feeling much more comfortable about his situation.
“Fuck that. Get’em!” Pocket knives and a few other miscellaneous items came into the Poison Serpents possession, bricks, steel rods, a piece of lumber or two… Yep, careful planning was needed in order to survive… To bad KC didn’t plan this.
--- Fifteen Minutes Ago ---
“Dirty money’s dirty money… Deep Breathe, deep breathe… Okay, you can do this.” Creeping out from behind a few crates KC tipped toed across the dirty concrete floor, heading toward the thrown aside bundle of cash left on the table opposite to the main entrance. From what he could tell most of the gang members were asleep, and the others that were ‘on guard’ were playing a game of pocket. The table of drugs and cash was about fifteen feet away, slightly cast away from the light above the table. With any luck KC wouldn’t even be spotted let alone heard, and they wouldn’t know about their decreasing funds until he was long gone.
Closer… Just a bit closer… Almost there… Just a few feet away and – SUCCESS! The cash that was wrapped with a cliché rubber band was in his possession. Now he just needed to make it back around the way he came and out the nearest exit. Well, only exit. The front entrance, the main entrance was the only set of doors that wasn’t boarded up or securely blocked with eighteen tons of crap piled in front of it.
Doing half a pirouette KC continued his tiptoed dance around the sleeping bodies, making his way toward the crates that would conceal his presence until he was gone. He was nearly there, only a few feet to go until he felt a snag on his pants. Looking down he saw the edge of his pants caught against a loose nail, a freaking nail of all things. Oh, how the cliché’s just kept on coming. Worse yet, he couldn’t kneel down all the way to pull himself free because he was lunging over the body of a fairly fat Mexican.
‘Great… What should I do?’
As he questioned his current predicament the heavyset man snorted, grunted, and then snored before rolling over, catching Ken in the back of the knee and pushing him forward into a staggering fall. The resounding crash seemed to last for years as KC landed with a twisting roll behind the crates. The sound of chairs scrapping against the ground came next, then the voices of confused and hostile drug peddlers. Standing up in a daze KC looked at the faces of death, all eight of them as they stared holes through his body – probably imagining where they’d like to shoot him.
“So, what’s the buy in?” Giving half a laugh he scratched the back of his head in bewildered amusement, all before booking it for the door. And thus, after a five-minute chase he found himself stuck in the alley.
“Look guys, I really don’t want to hurt you. Lets just call this insurance money.”
“That sounds fair.” Confusing rose from the faces of each and every follower, and that look was thrown back ten-fold by KC.
“Really?”
“No.”
‘Shit.’
Standing his ground KC blocked a two by four with the extended right end of his weapon before thrusting it forward, cracking the poison serpent in the chin before backing up. He was running out of space, but when it came to facing over-whelming odds he had to play it smart. Each move counted.
Keeping his right side forward he did a backhand motion, half pushing his ‘Bo staff’ to the right and locking a steel rod that had been swung for his head. Stepping in he dipped the front of the staff down before twisting it back over to the right and lifting up. He caught the back of the gang members right knee and pulled it up to his chest before continuing to push forward with a step, sending the wanna-be tough guy to his ass and into a comedic backward roll.
Looking up at the remaining members he couldn’t help but smirk, a reassuring smile that he had the advantage despite the numbers. A boast of self-confidence, a cocky attitude that was all a rye for his true intentions. He wanted to make them even angrier, make them rush in without thinking so that he could continue to pick them apart. Though, by the looks of things the last six seemed much more cautious about their approach. They would attack, that much was sure, made evident by the malice in their eyes.
‘Aw, shit.’
