By TheUncanny 2 Comments
"You've got to be kidding me, Asama... Are you high again?"
"What... What? No... Come on you know me better than-- Clearly- Clearly I'm not high, babe. Sarah, Sssometimes I just can't-- can not?... Can't with you" Asama trails off into a laughter and continues to eat uncooked ramen in their empty tub like it breath life into her failing lungs. She'd probably blame the pain on the morning sun.
The night was noisy. And the city's air felt heavy, laden with rainfall to come. The target's skyrise loft was well secured by hired guns in the main foyer, so Asama opted to repel from the roof and make her grand entrance by window. The scene of the mob-mongol's living room looked like a messy weapons locker; littered in pistols, rifles, explosives, and him alone in the dark with his hostage.
"It's because I know you, that I thought you were high. I found pnp in your jeans when I was doing the-"
"I was just hhhholding that for Ricky down the street"
"Ricky down the street? Really? Ricky with a "c" or Ricky with a two "k"s"
"Ricky with a 'c'... No wait... I don't smoke meth, b. Hop off"
"Oh [censored], you've been drinking again? Asama, please don't tell me--"
Eventually the rain hits. The guards disperse. The mobster takes a hit of scotch and brandishes a pair of brass knuckles to deal with someone tied up in the corner. Thunder roars and Asama slices through the widow using her twin blades, and throws a roped spear his way. It sinks into the thug's waist, he flinches and goes for a handgun. Right as his fingers tighten around the handle, he's yanked the femme fatal's way with breathtaking velocity. As soon as she's within cutting distance of her mark, Asama takes a hard swing at his neck. Unlike in the movies, it doesn't take his head off in one swing but the blood was flowing and with fleeting consciousness, the man took several pot shots at his deathmaker.
"BINGO! And your prize's a kiss from the QueenofthaJungle. Come and get you looove?!?"
"Is that blood in our tub?"
"Yeah, youdon'twanna know"
"Actually, I think you owe me an explanation!"
One shot find's her elbow, another clears her waist, and the final opens up Asama's left thigh. The pain is acknowledged by the contortion of her face, but the fluidity of Asama's body movements are hardly interrupted. All 400 square feet of her target's living room were eventually mottled in the man's blood as Asama mixed capoeira styled strikes with her blade dance and finished the performance with a high kick knocking back the mobster's head gruesomely. Now that it was just Asama and the hostage, she untied the young man and hoisted him up for a repelled escape. She keeps the bag on his head for security reasons, but he gratefully begs to know his savior's name. Slow to respond, Asama was eventually willing to give her alias, but what came out instead was, "Wait is that scotch? How many bottles do you think he left behind?"
"What the [censored]. You stupid [censored]... How many bottles did you have?"
"However many fit in suuuupersuit, so probably not too many... And this one behind my back but--"
"You can't live like this! Just accept who- what- you are and go get some help. I can't believe you got drunk after killing a guy"
"One: soldiers do that like-- alllss the time, and Two: I was drunk before killing him too. Sooo, it's like it never even happened if you ask me!"
"I'm leaving, Asama. I started backing my bags when I heard you come in this moring. I going to live with my parents for a while because I can't sit by and watch you do this anymore. Only you can help yourself, so as much as I'd love to waste my time with you... I can't stand to look at you anymore... Bye"
"... But... Babe... I just got paid, so maybe we could--" Alone, chewing on the ramen still and utterly wasted, Asama puked over the side to the tub and sadly passed out.