Seeing Red

Rowan ran the back of her hand across her mouth leaving a narrow streak of crimson glistening against her pale skin. The coppery tang of blood mingled with grit was un pleasant, but invigorating. She grinned, running the tip of her tongue across the cut on her bottom lip.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” She inquired, the sharp sting only served to fuel the fire in her veins. “I know little girls who hit harder than you.”

“Bitch.”

The snarl erupted from the twisted mouth of her latest mark. He was a young man in his early twenties, or so the poster had claimed, and the telltale scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to his ear and down the side of his neck was the defining mark that separated him from the rest of the riffraff in this part of town.

“Huh, how clever. So, no brawn, no brains, how have you made it this far? Luck? Gotta be luck,” Rowan smirked causing the young man to sneer. She pretended to examine her nails, picking away at invisible dirt and the like.

Despite her taunting words and flippant demeanor, Rowan was keyed into what she was doing. Her hand hovered close to the blade hidden within the inner lining of her fitted coat and she was ready when the man lunged at her, his anger finally reaching its limit – just as she’d known it would.

Earlier in the day, Rowan had scouted the area, asking the locals about the thief known as Scar. It was evident now that creativity was not something the criminal possessed. He did, however, have a recklessness fueled by his temper which was just what Rowan had been hoping to exploit.

The moment he lunged at her, Rowan was moving. Her hand slipped inside her coat, her fingers curling around the steel warmed by the heat of her body. With the blade in hand she propelled herself backwards.

The knife was thrown with precision and speed towards her target.

A high pitched yowl confirmed she had met her mark without having to see it with her own eyes. Still, she sought out the hilt of the blade and smiled at the site of it protruding from the man’s shoulder.

He looked like he was struggling to speak.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a bitch, you really need to work on your act, it’s really lacking,” Rowen declared as the man regained his composure. “Listen, Scarface, we both know that at the end of the day, I’m going to get what I want. So it’s really up to you how many bones I need to break to get there.”

Scar grunted while attempting to dislodge the dagger from his coat. The serrated edge made it an extremely unpleasant process and Rowen made no efforts to stop him. He gave up when he realized he was only going to do more damage to himself and turned towards her huffing and puffing.

From the depth of his ratty coat he produced a nasty looking knife of his own. Rowen had no doubt he’d taken his fair share of lives with that thing – mostly drunks or by accident – but she wasn’t worried.

She had more than sharp knives at her disposal.

“Oh no,” Rowen exclaimed, holding up her hands in mock defeat. All in an effort to antagonize him further -- make him do something stupid, “you’ve got me now, whatever will I do?”

”Don’t mock me, bitch,” Scar sneered, waving the weapon around in what Rowen could only assume was supposed to be a threatening manner.

In truth, she was struggling not to burst out laughing.

"You think you’re so witty and clever, but I’m gonna be the one who walks away and you… well, you’re going to be chokin’ on your own blood.”

Rowen sighed, picking at her nails.

"Oh please, no, help, help..." she declared in a flat, almost bored tone. "Just come quietly, Scarface, the coin I get for your sorry ass is going to keep the beer flowing all night."

Sometimes Rowan wondered if all petty criminals shared some sort of 'How to be a Criminal' handbook.

Was there a list of do's and don't's at the back? Some rigid set of rules that everyone of them needed to follow in order to be inducted into the 'club'?

Her mark responded exactly how she expected him too -- more weak verbal insults (another section in their book perhaps?) and a few more threatening swings of the knife.

Then he lunged at her and it was the 'mistake' Rowan had been waiting for.

She stepped to the side, avoiding his feeble attempt to tackle her while grabbing a hold of his arm in the process.

Using his own momentum against him she swung him around and guided his ugly face into the hard brick and mortar of the tavern wall.

A loud crack was all Rowan needed to confirm she had broken his nose with the impact. He staggered back, blood covering his face as he yowled in agony and tried in vain to stop the bleeding.

"Quit crying, you'll live," Rowan declared as she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her back pocket. She'd relieved a Tin Man of them a few years back during a foray in Oz and they'd turned out to be handy in situations like this.

Scarface tried to resist, but with his injuries and loss of blood he was in no real position to fight her. Forcing him to the ground she straddled his back and jerked his arms none-too-gently behind him as she administered the binds.

"This could have gone a lot smoother, your nose wouldn't be broken and I wouldn't have gotten blood stains on my new coat," Rowan replied, noting the splotches of red decorating the dark brown leather of her long coat.

"You know, Bo is always telling me that this is why I can't have nice things. Maybe she’s right. I won’t tell her that though. I just can’t bring myself to give her the satisfaction."

Scarface's only response was a grunt.

"That should do it," Rowan replied, swinging up and off of him before reaching down to help haul him to his feet. When she caught sight of his bloodied face she grimace. "You might want to get someone to take a look at that..."

Scarface grumbled something Rowan didn't quite hear, but it was enough to give her pause.

"What did you say?" Her tone had gone from mockingly jovial to serious in a second flat. When he didn't answer right away she shook him and he spit out a mouthful of saliva and blood.

"I know who you're looking for," he said again, clearer and more audible.

"If you think I'm going to cut you loose-"

"Consider this a friendly warning," Scarface cut her off and began to chuckle only to succumb to a fit of coughing. Rowan shoved him towards the mouth of the alley. "He's looking too."

A satisfied sigh escaped the lips of the young woman as she drained the last mouthfuls of ale from her mug. How many was that now? Three? Four? It didn’t matter, it was just enough to have her feeling relaxed but not enough to inhibit her better judgement – or make her any less lethal with the blades hidden in various locations upon her person.

The manner in which she propped her booted feet on the scarred, worn table top and the way she leaned back nonchalantly in her chair gave her the air of a woman without worry.

Just the way she liked it.

When you were at ease, the people around you were at ease. When they were at ease, their tongues got loose and there was nothing better than a man with a lot on his mind and a need to air his thoughts. So while it might appear to the average onlooker that Rowan was merely attempting to melt the events of the day away in the bottom of a mug she was actually hard at work.

At least, that’s what she told Bo on the occasion where she, Rowan, returned to their makeshift camp or into whatever cramped little room they were renting for the night, three sheets to the wind.

She had half a mind to make today one of those days. It was still early and she’d gotten quite a bit of gold after turning Mr. Original over to the authorities. There was just one thing holding her back from washing the day away with a few more mugs of spiced mead. Something Scarface had said had rooted itself in her mind and become a point of contention.

He’s looking too.

Naturally Rowan had her suspicions, and it concerned her that some low life like Scarface not only knew who she was, but knew something so personal. It was a tad bit unsettling and made Rowan feel uneasy and annoyed.

No matter how many times she’d punched him he wouldn’t tell her where he’d gotten that tidbit of information.

At the risk of killing him she was finally forced to simply hand him over and all she’d gotten for her troubles were a couple of bruised knuckles.

Frowning, Rowan decided that one more mug wouldn’t hurt and she was about to flag down a barmaid when the door to the scrubby little pub flew open. Two men rushed in looking harried and concerned. After taking a moment to catch their breath the larger of the two men managed to speak.

”Just got word that Easthallow was attacked, the whole village razed to the ground!”

A man sitting with some companions at a nearby table threw himself to his feet. All the color had drained from his face and he rushed for the door.

Rowan had a feeling the man was from Easthallow, or at least knew people that were.

There was a general uproar in the common room between angry shouts and questions as to who and when. Rowan slipped her feet to the floor and wished she hadn’t drank as much as she had. If trouble was coming she wanted to be certain she was ready for it and at the moment her head was swimming.

Rising to her feet she dropped a handful of coins on the table to cover her tab – and then some. She was about to take her leave when the door swung open only this time the two men who entered didn’t look worried or upset and the whole room fell silent at the sight of them.

Rowan felt her stomach twist with rage.

Blood Fangs.

"Oye, your kind aren't welcomed here," she called out, her voice sounding abnormally loud against the silence of the room. She placed one hand on her hip, her fingertips brushing the cool metal hilt of a blade hidden just beneath her coat.

"So why don't you turn around and go before you find yourself in more trouble than you can handle."

Her brazen speech seemed to instill a bit of courage in a few of the other patrons because they rose as well. While Rowan kept her blades hidden, these men made no effort to hide their weapons.

The two men glanced around unimpressed by the sudden show of defiance exhibited by the crowd. The taller of the two finally settled his gaze on Rowan and grinned. “You, woman! Just what type of trouble would we be in?”

Rowan resisted the urge to smirk, instead she just offered a shrugged and maintained her stoic silence as the group of men bickered amongst one another. Rowan could tell the others in the bar were too afraid, or perhaps too drunk, to really be of any help.

That meant she was going to have to do all the dirty work.

She didn’t mind, not really.

All she needed was an opportunity.

Mistaking her silence for uncertainty, the man smirked. “S’what I thought. You…how about you come sit with me?”

Perfect.

Rowan’s dark eyes shifted in the direction of the gangster and the table he was now sitting at. It was by a few windows, potential escape routes if things got too out of hand.

Those that had been nearby had already begun scooting away, or finding new places to sit. Rowan felt the cool touch of metal against her forearm as the dagger hidden beneath her sleeve was loosened from its hiding place.

The only question remaining as she sauntered towards the smug criminal was where that blade would end up.

In his throat perhaps? Too messy, blood would get everywhere if she wasn’t careful.

His gut? Survivable under the right medical care, otherwise it would take him days for him to die.

No, what she needed was a quick, and clean, solution.

Into his back, between the lower ribs and right into his kidney.

”I see you’re a man who likes to take risks,” Rowan declared as she hovered just within arm’s reach. She had to make this foolish man think he was in control. “I’ve already told you that your kind aren’t welcome around here. Aren’t you at least a little concerned for your well being?”

“The only thing I’m concerned about is how long it’s taking you to get your ass over here,” the man sneered, clearly tiring of Rowan’s unending commentary. “C’mere and let me give that pretty mouth of yours something else to do besides talk.”

His companion chuckled and the two exchanged congratulatory glances as though the ringleader had said something particularly clever.

Rowan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

All he had really done was confirm her earlier speculations that there was some sort of training manual required to be a hoodlum. It was unfortunate, really, because it meant Rowan grew tired of the interaction rather quickly.

When she didn’t immediately drop into his lap following his request, he grew impatient and made a grab for her. She stepped just out of reach causing a grunt of annoyance to escape his lips.

“The hell, woman,” he growled, shoving himself to his feet. He stood a good foot taller than Rowan and had about a hundred pounds on her. In an all out contest of physical strength he would easily overpower her.

Fortunately, Rowan didn’t need brute strength, all she needed as an opening. He grabbed for her again and this time he caught the front of her shirt in his fist. He jerked her towards him and she didn’t resist.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“The question you really should be asking is how long it’s going to take you to die when I slip this dagger into your kidney,” she replied, pressing the tip of her knife more firmly against his back.

When he had pulled her close she had loosened the blade from her sleeve and positioned herself in such a way that she had the upper hand when all was said and done.

“Now are you going to let me go, and leave, or do you want to die?”

The man’s eyes grew wide and flashed red with anger. “We’re lookin’ for a girl,” he said at last, his grip on Rowan’s shirt loosening but not letting go fully. She dug the tip of the dagger in a little deeper.

He released her.

“What girl?”

“A bounty hunter,” the man declared. “Goes by the name Red.”

Rowan kept her expression passive, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled when she recalled the words Scarface had spoken earlier. He’s looking too.

“What business do the Blood Fangs have with her?”

“It ain’t the Blood Fangs,” he said at last, glancing towards his companion who was reaching slowly into his coat.

“Tell your friend to put both his hands where I can see them,” Rowan replied nonchalantly. “If it’s not the Blood Fangs, than who are you working for?”

“I don’t see why--”

Rowan increased the pressure of the knife fully prepared to end the man’s life for being uncooperative.

“Alright! Damn it,” he grunted. “Merrok Volkov. He said he’s got a score to settle with her. Promised a hell of a lot of gold to whomever could bring her in alive.”

“Did he now? Well, I’ll tell you what,” Rowan replied, twisting the dagger slightly as she stepped in closer, “you get to go back and tell him that Red sends her love and to be patient. We’ll meet again sooner than he thinks.”

“You mean-”

“Now you’re using that head of yours for something other than a hat stand,” Rowan smirked, stepping away and returning the dagger to its hiding place. The man frowned and moved to take a step towards her.

“Now, now. I know what you’re thinking, but I promise it’s not worth it. You’re bigger, sure, but I’m faster, and more determined to stay free than you are to get that gold I assure you.”

“It’s only a matter of time, Red,” the man called out to her as Rowan slung her jacket over her shoulder and strolled towards the exit.

Her steps were light, almost carefree, but her heart was heavy and her thoughts dark. “Merrok always gets his prize.”

“Merrok better be careful what he wishes for then,” Rowan replied before shoving the door open and stepping out into the encroaching night.

#fairytale #werewolf #fantasy #littleredridinghood #red #bountyhunter #short #fighting #prose #retelling