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Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The sun glinted off of his golden medallion, engraved with runes and symbols of languages long gone, before fading from view behind a cloud. His dark brown eyes were locked with her glinting green. They betrayed only her determination. His men cast their glares to her troops. Opening his mouth, he shouted at the top of his lungs:
“The Skoropi Gang will fall!”
It was met with a fearsome:
“Then you shall burn with us!”
The two gangs crashed at each other under the cloudy New York sky. Shouts enveloped him as his eyes searched for the red-haired sharp-tongued leader of the Skoropi Gang. The breath rushed out of him as he crumpled to the ground. ‘I forgot how strong her kicks are.’ She had found him first. Acting on impulse, he stood, facing the witch, wearing a medallion like his own.
“You wanna fight like--” His words were cut short by a swift punch to his nose. He fought back the usual rush off panic as blood spurted out of his nostrils.
“Yeah.” She replied sarcastically. “Exactly like that. With me winning and you losing.” Her foot slammed down on his windpipe. Panic lit his terrified eyes.
“That’s against-against rule 49-6 of the Caleb Proclamation--” He chocked out. “’No bringing death to other leaders in territory disputes’”
“I suppose you’re right, for once. But rules never say I can’t get a close as I--” Her words were stalled by his henchman: Wolf.
She flailed her legs and let her teeth sink deep into Wolf’s arm, and relished is his howling as she felt warm blood rush out of her mouth. He threw her away in a vain attempt as dislodging her from his veins. Her teeth dragged and his flesh tore into deep scars. “Medic!” He howled as she withdrew her daggers. “Me--” He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in his back.
“RETREAT!” Their leader shrieked. “RETREAT!”
She waved innocently good-bye. “Until the next scent post, Jaul.”
“Until the next scent post.” He didn’t want to, but gang-law forced opposing sides to exchange ‘friendly’ good byes while carrying their wounded back to the bases. It was odd though, as it was also said at ceremonies of the dead. The ‘scent post’ was a reference to the posts that gangs rubbed scent and paint on to identify their territory.
She walked toward him for the customary hand-shake. He shrank down into the postures of submission, although it was practically instinct to submit to the taller female. ‘How I wish I could grow, and collect better gang members, that’ll show her.’ She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Until the next scent post.”
His knees nearly buckled. He wished more than ever to jump in a hole and not come out until all the terror of the Earth was gone.
“The Skoropi Gang will fall!”
It was met with a fearsome:
“Then you shall burn with us!”
The two gangs crashed at each other under the cloudy New York sky. Shouts enveloped him as his eyes searched for the red-haired sharp-tongued leader of the Skoropi Gang. The breath rushed out of him as he crumpled to the ground. ‘I forgot how strong her kicks are.’ She had found him first. Acting on impulse, he stood, facing the witch, wearing a medallion like his own.
“You wanna fight like--” His words were cut short by a swift punch to his nose. He fought back the usual rush off panic as blood spurted out of his nostrils.
“Yeah.” She replied sarcastically. “Exactly like that. With me winning and you losing.” Her foot slammed down on his windpipe. Panic lit his terrified eyes.
“That’s against-against rule 49-6 of the Caleb Proclamation--” He chocked out. “’No bringing death to other leaders in territory disputes’”
“I suppose you’re right, for once. But rules never say I can’t get a close as I--” Her words were stalled by his henchman: Wolf.
She flailed her legs and let her teeth sink deep into Wolf’s arm, and relished is his howling as she felt warm blood rush out of her mouth. He threw her away in a vain attempt as dislodging her from his veins. Her teeth dragged and his flesh tore into deep scars. “Medic!” He howled as she withdrew her daggers. “Me--” He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in his back.
“RETREAT!” Their leader shrieked. “RETREAT!”
She waved innocently good-bye. “Until the next scent post, Jaul.”
“Until the next scent post.” He didn’t want to, but gang-law forced opposing sides to exchange ‘friendly’ good byes while carrying their wounded back to the bases. It was odd though, as it was also said at ceremonies of the dead. The ‘scent post’ was a reference to the posts that gangs rubbed scent and paint on to identify their territory.
She walked toward him for the customary hand-shake. He shrank down into the postures of submission, although it was practically instinct to submit to the taller female. ‘How I wish I could grow, and collect better gang members, that’ll show her.’ She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Until the next scent post.”
His knees nearly buckled. He wished more than ever to jump in a hole and not come out until all the terror of the Earth was gone.
It about gangs in NY.
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