The Chikong mooks were definiely well trained. I was have a hard time landing a hit on the single one I was fighting. Not even when he slipped. I offered him help to stand as a feint, but my follow help totally floated past him. I guess I should try punchng less and kicking more seeing as can only throw out so many unches with one hand.
Chuck was bashing mooks left and right with bottles until he was armed with two very threatening looking glass knives
I felt moisture on my face. Damnit, Armitage had gotten blood on my dress again. Shouldn’t he show a little more restrained with that trigger of his. I could of totally handled this guy on my own. He really should let a girl have more fun before he goes fireing off his bullets.
I ripped open my violin case and pulled out a pocket pistol. He just had to go and escalate the thing. And really it wasn’t fair, I would only have four shots: two in the derringer I was drawing out and two in the one strapped to my leg beneath my dress.
I fired twice and nailed one guy in the shoulder… Perhaps I should start carrying a couple more of these things. I mean it is a pretty big case and with spare bullets it’s not much room. I’ll just have to patiently reload them all, and maintain them.
I leaped onto and over a table in an attempt to kick down another one of the scrubby red caps. I would have hi him for sure if my mind wasn’t focused on more important matters. But if I switched to a larger pistol I would have to dealing with the recoil. Sigh. Dad, if only you hadn’t taken me to see that project of yours, this wouldn’t be an issue.
Then, the schmuck threw a glass of alcohol in my face. Damn, my dry cleaning bill is just going up an up. Maybe, Chuck can get me a discount.
And those that were left were running. We gave chase immediately. Well, the others did… I umm… well I tripped and umm, well fell down a couple of flights of stairs. Not my proudest moment, but well… I was being shot at, cough coughyeah I was definitely being shot at at the time. Because I just couldn’t fall down the stairs, I’m far better than that.
And a word of advice to all the kiddies out there. If a elegant (if a bit frantic) dame happens to falls down a flight of stairs, don’t spit gum in her hair, otherwise she will knock over your ice-cream cone and steal your bike.
Thanks to the hilly nature of the city and the traffic I managed to catch up my friends in a stylish open-roofed car (check with Armitage, car’s aint my thing). I leaped into the bck seat letting the tiny bicycle tumble down the rest of the hill. Before I could jump onto the fish truck (hi-jacked by the Chikong of course) we hit the waterfront.
After dealing with one speedboat, I leaped into the next nd gave the drive a good elbow to the nose. Chuck followed as did our resident Mercenary. We easily dealt with the three Chikong. We then spoted the warehouse/dock/Obvious Chikong Base™. I jumped into the water to try to swim stealthily. That was kina broken by one of the boats being since in as a missile. I hope that wasn’t the boat I left my case on. That sword is an antique.
I climbed across the wall and found the entrance. Running in I saw that it was now bathed in fire. I assumed it was out boat attack. I could see one guard, perhaps sixy or so yards away. I reactivel crouched so I could rip my second derringer from it’s place on my hip without messing with my dress too much (even more of a pain now that it was wet).
The thing about my pocket pistols is that they are not really designed to fire that far. The range was definitely pushing it. These tiny thing are designed for poker table range. The bullets fly so enough that given ten or so feet you could actually see the bullet as it flashes through the air like a fly.
I watched my tiny circket of steel soar beyond my sight, where it grew to small to see. The guard was just turning towards me when his head jerke back and he fell.
I stared at my tiny baby of a firearm.