June's Story
About
This is a short fight scene I wrote for June Berylns, a character in my story The Regulators. Unlike other short stories, this one is not reflective of, or associated with, the actual story and can be thought of more as unrelated fight-scene practice.
“We don’t like your kind here. Get the fuck out of here, reggie.”
June smiles, not the slightest hint of amusement on her face. “Really.”, she says.
“Yeah, really, and now you’re going to die!”. The lout in front gestures with a large wooden bat in his hands. The ones behind him are unarmed, probably concealing weapons, but none of them are adjusting weights on their clothing or keeping their fingers next to pockets. But June doesn’t care. If they are a threat, they’d already be on her. Right now it’s just a bunch of idiots who are due for another hospitalization, as idiots are wont to.
But it would be best if she made at least a token attempt at de-escalation. “Look, you called me a ‘reggie’? How on earth am I a Regulator? I’m just minding my own business, I’m nothing of the sort. Now, if you’ll please leave me alon-”
June’s speech is cut off by a swing, or rather, the beginnings of a swing. She steps out of range with time to spare and is rewarded with a stumble, as the leader of the pack is inexpertly carried forward by the force of his strike. Right into her fists. His face wobbles underneath the blow and the rest of him drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. June makes sure to give him a congratulatory stomp on the ribs as she steps over him. Another brave fool lunges at her, a high tackle this time. June drops down and back in time with his charge, using his momentum to drag him up and over her. Her assailant lands poorly into his leader with a loud grunt. But there is no time to appreciate it, the rest of the gang is moving in, fists swinging and feet kicking. June bobs past a punch, knocks away another strike, and lands a sharp elbow to a face that got too close. Her free hand snakes past the falling man and strikes his buddy in the throat, a gurgling sound confirming the blow. One of the thugs manages to score a hasty low kick glancing off her shin, his effort met by a right hook that sends him spinning to the floor.
Behind her, she hears the scrape of wood on concrete, and knows immediately that someone’s picking up the bat their leader dropped. She ducks another punch, the next fool before her is introduced to the butting of heads in a more literal manner, grab bash and drop. Then ducking underneath his arm, she reaches a hand up against his head, another hand holding his extended arm, and pivots his body behind her. A loud cracking noise rings out, her opponent shudders violently, and a loud “Shit!” confirms that the hapless man managed to intercept a blow meant for her back. She drops her unconscious opponent, kicking a recovering foe in the side of the abdomen at the same time, then spins around to face the thug holding the bat. He looks appalled at his mistake, still staring at his friend he laid out, giving June time to spring forward, grab the bat in his hands, press it against his chest and hook her foot underneath one of his legs. A firm push trips him over her foot onto the ground. June lifts her leg and slams her foot into his stomach, drawing a fine mist of spit from his lips and he curls up and wails under his breath.
June looks around. One last thug is still mobile, leaning against a wall with blood leaking from a crooked grin, with his right hand in his coat. He lunges forward at her with his left hand extended forward. June hops backward and to the side, buying enough space for his charge to peter out, and the man stumbles, the glint of steel now in his other hand. He wildly slashes at her. She continues to retreat away from each swipe, and the back of her foot hits something hard. Cornered. Drawing as deep of a breath as she can with the single second she has left, June parries the man’s knife hand at the wrist, wraps around it and her other hand slams into his elbow, flipping the hand with the knife up and over the thug’s shoulder. She accepts a punch to her gut with his free hand as she focuses on keeping the knife away from her, gripping his arm with both of her hands. A quick knee to his groin produces no results, so she tries again and again, the third time loosening his footwork and grip a little with a sharp grunt. Knife still in his hand, June uses the moment of weakness to graze his hand along his face, producing a wicked red gash. His composure lost, he tries to wrench himself away from her, opening up enough room between their bodies for a full kick to his abdomen. June manages to free the knife from his hand as he reels back. The thug lands hard on the ground and curls up, expecting the worst. June jumps forward and lands a resounding kick that opens up his fetal position and sends him tumbling away. Scanning for more opponents, June only sees a bunch of prone figures lying about her, some in a fair quantity of their own blood. She picks up the wooden bat just in case someone gets up.
June then realizes where the knife went: buried in her shoulder. Shallowly, it seems, there’s enough of the blade showing, but there is still blood. She shakes her head in disgust and decides to rip it out, it’s probably not buried deep enough for severe bleeding. Her hand instinctively goes to clutch at the wound, but she thinks better of it and rips a piece off her sleeve to soak up the blood.
June thinks for a moment, now how did these fine fellows realize she was with the DMR? There’s no way some strangers figured it out on their own and then decided to jump her while completely unprepared for handle someone like her. Is someone sending a warning? June decides to leave the alleyway, there’s no way there aren’t worse surprises around the corner, and speed is of the essence when someone has the upper hand on you.
On the plus side, at least the fight itself would make a good story at the precinct. It would just make her reputation worse though, brawling with random malcontents. And winning, no less. She sighs, this is going to be a routine failed mugging, but she’ll need to figure out how to learn how they know what they do without drawing suspicion. That ought to be fun...
June smiles, not the slightest hint of amusement on her face. “Really.”, she says.
“Yeah, really, and now you’re going to die!”. The lout in front gestures with a large wooden bat in his hands. The ones behind him are unarmed, probably concealing weapons, but none of them are adjusting weights on their clothing or keeping their fingers next to pockets. But June doesn’t care. If they are a threat, they’d already be on her. Right now it’s just a bunch of idiots who are due for another hospitalization, as idiots are wont to.
But it would be best if she made at least a token attempt at de-escalation. “Look, you called me a ‘reggie’? How on earth am I a Regulator? I’m just minding my own business, I’m nothing of the sort. Now, if you’ll please leave me alon-”
June’s speech is cut off by a swing, or rather, the beginnings of a swing. She steps out of range with time to spare and is rewarded with a stumble, as the leader of the pack is inexpertly carried forward by the force of his strike. Right into her fists. His face wobbles underneath the blow and the rest of him drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. June makes sure to give him a congratulatory stomp on the ribs as she steps over him. Another brave fool lunges at her, a high tackle this time. June drops down and back in time with his charge, using his momentum to drag him up and over her. Her assailant lands poorly into his leader with a loud grunt. But there is no time to appreciate it, the rest of the gang is moving in, fists swinging and feet kicking. June bobs past a punch, knocks away another strike, and lands a sharp elbow to a face that got too close. Her free hand snakes past the falling man and strikes his buddy in the throat, a gurgling sound confirming the blow. One of the thugs manages to score a hasty low kick glancing off her shin, his effort met by a right hook that sends him spinning to the floor.
Behind her, she hears the scrape of wood on concrete, and knows immediately that someone’s picking up the bat their leader dropped. She ducks another punch, the next fool before her is introduced to the butting of heads in a more literal manner, grab bash and drop. Then ducking underneath his arm, she reaches a hand up against his head, another hand holding his extended arm, and pivots his body behind her. A loud cracking noise rings out, her opponent shudders violently, and a loud “Shit!” confirms that the hapless man managed to intercept a blow meant for her back. She drops her unconscious opponent, kicking a recovering foe in the side of the abdomen at the same time, then spins around to face the thug holding the bat. He looks appalled at his mistake, still staring at his friend he laid out, giving June time to spring forward, grab the bat in his hands, press it against his chest and hook her foot underneath one of his legs. A firm push trips him over her foot onto the ground. June lifts her leg and slams her foot into his stomach, drawing a fine mist of spit from his lips and he curls up and wails under his breath.
June looks around. One last thug is still mobile, leaning against a wall with blood leaking from a crooked grin, with his right hand in his coat. He lunges forward at her with his left hand extended forward. June hops backward and to the side, buying enough space for his charge to peter out, and the man stumbles, the glint of steel now in his other hand. He wildly slashes at her. She continues to retreat away from each swipe, and the back of her foot hits something hard. Cornered. Drawing as deep of a breath as she can with the single second she has left, June parries the man’s knife hand at the wrist, wraps around it and her other hand slams into his elbow, flipping the hand with the knife up and over the thug’s shoulder. She accepts a punch to her gut with his free hand as she focuses on keeping the knife away from her, gripping his arm with both of her hands. A quick knee to his groin produces no results, so she tries again and again, the third time loosening his footwork and grip a little with a sharp grunt. Knife still in his hand, June uses the moment of weakness to graze his hand along his face, producing a wicked red gash. His composure lost, he tries to wrench himself away from her, opening up enough room between their bodies for a full kick to his abdomen. June manages to free the knife from his hand as he reels back. The thug lands hard on the ground and curls up, expecting the worst. June jumps forward and lands a resounding kick that opens up his fetal position and sends him tumbling away. Scanning for more opponents, June only sees a bunch of prone figures lying about her, some in a fair quantity of their own blood. She picks up the wooden bat just in case someone gets up.
June then realizes where the knife went: buried in her shoulder. Shallowly, it seems, there’s enough of the blade showing, but there is still blood. She shakes her head in disgust and decides to rip it out, it’s probably not buried deep enough for severe bleeding. Her hand instinctively goes to clutch at the wound, but she thinks better of it and rips a piece off her sleeve to soak up the blood.
June thinks for a moment, now how did these fine fellows realize she was with the DMR? There’s no way some strangers figured it out on their own and then decided to jump her while completely unprepared for handle someone like her. Is someone sending a warning? June decides to leave the alleyway, there’s no way there aren’t worse surprises around the corner, and speed is of the essence when someone has the upper hand on you.
On the plus side, at least the fight itself would make a good story at the precinct. It would just make her reputation worse though, brawling with random malcontents. And winning, no less. She sighs, this is going to be a routine failed mugging, but she’ll need to figure out how to learn how they know what they do without drawing suspicion. That ought to be fun...