#WritingWonders Feb Day 29 — (2 of 2)
#excerpt #snippet of a scene
"Ow!" he said, stumbling over-dramatically. Had the purse strap hit him?
Despite my better judgement, I glanced back. He moved his hand to show a red scratch.
It had!
The buck considered it a mating gambit, or feigned it pretty well. I rolled my eyes and sped up.
So did he and his jeering miscreant friends. Had I not been up since dawn, I might have enjoyed the novelty of the attention as the teens argued about me. His girlfriend pointed out I trampled his manhood.
I rolled my eyes at that. That earned me a lame, "What's your name?"
I made a really? face as I stifled a smile, but my snort, though barely audible, was unmistakable. I shook my head.
He ruined my amusement by speaking over his shoulder, "She's kinda cute."
Another girl said, "Stop playing with your food, Trigger!"
"So," he continued, "Cute Dumpling—"
"Mixed metaphor," I interjected.
"What?"
"Dumplings are not, as a rule, cute."
He growled. "What's —"
"What did that squeaky-voiced one mean by calling me a 'skirt?'" I didn't bother to look back, but heard someone stumble and swear.
"Mustang didn't mean no disrespect," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.
The No was a dig. "Was it respectful for you to look up my blouse?" I asked.
"Hey!"
"Who's following whom?"
"You're seriously pushing it. We do business in this neighborhood—"
"Like what?" If I was going to be delayed, I might as well have fun. Predators trying to harass me were always fair game.
"I— Uh..."
"Loitering?"
His voice lowered. "You need to show some respect." He aimed a hand at my shoulder.
I brought up an elbow, rotating when he thought his weight would be on me. Kept walking. No magic. He stumbled, and his friends behind him laughed.
"Are you asking for trouble?"
I thought about that. Maybe I was.
He wore a white teeshirt and tight black shorts with gold chains. He was smaller than his fellows, a dyed blond. Meant he thought himself smarter, either in "business" or in the way he fought.
I still hadn't learned how to reliably cast my special spell. Was he the one who might help me break through? I looked at the muscles as he moved, and how he held himself. "I doubt it," I told myself.
"What?"
"I thought you might teach me something, but was mistaken."
He sped up to cross my path but didn't take the last step. Guess I'd intimidated him. It gave me a good, unimpressive view of his rear end. I made a point of looking, tit for tat.
"What are you, Trigger?" I asked.
"Nightingale Glory Syndicate. We all are.You're going to regret trespassing—"
Ah. Now I understood. "Not in a gang. Was walking home after a long day at work when someone rudely wolf-whistled me—"
He stepped in front of me.
I stepped the other direction, taking one last glance at his flank. As I passed him, I said into his ear, "Gelding."
"Gelding? Are you calling me a horse's—?"
"I was thinking of it as a verb."
His face darkened. "You think you can take me on?!"
I gave the guy a cursory glance. He had none of the brute strength of the monster who'd assaulted me last spring and whom I'd put down, nor, I doubted, the tenacity. I wouldn't learn anything. Realistically, I might if the entire gang mobbed me, but then I might very well lose that battle. I wasn't stupid.
"You asked my name," I corrected.
He jerked his head back. "I asked— what?"
"My name."
"Gelding?"
"My name." I'd be lying if I said it was my name, but it wasn't what I'd said to him.
"It's not very feminine."
"Is Trigger masculine?" A nickname signifying anger-management issues?
"But... Gelding?"
"You earned your name, didn't you? What about me?"
That stopped him. He looked up and saw we'd walked up to another gathering of late teens. They looked just like Trigger's but wore button-down shirts, plaid, and steel bracelets they started clinking together.
The term gang colors suddenly made sense. I had gotten him to follow me into a rival territory.
Shoot! Now I needed popcorn.
#fiction #fantasy #dialogue #writing #writer #writers #author
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