Stop at the Shoppe// [Shrimpeh]

It's only her and Aja in the shop today, the remnants of the Sublino clan having gone to work in the toy factory. Mother was lucky enough to have secured a job as a toy designer years prior to the 'quake, so schmoozing her way to securing two-no three-no five jobs was not the most difficult task. Nevertheless, ever since they lost Father and Aunt Savita and Grandmother things have not been the same. No longer does she have the reassuring hands that sewed scarves and fixed clocks and occasionally supplied ne'er-do-wells with some kind of makeshift weapon fashioned from a pocketwatch, an old necklace and scrap parts that have been gathered from the junkyward. No longer does she have the smiles that brightened her day, the voices that told her that dinner was ready or that her hair was a mess or that she'll be great one day.

Now it's all her and her thoughts, trapped in the cycle of her never-ending nightmare, each sound sending vibrant lights in her eyes, each scream rendering her blind. There's no one to comfort her - all those with the curse have long vanished, swept away to the neverlands one a one-trip ticket. It's just her and her alone and perhaps she's become bitter for no longer is she able to smile and laugh without faking it, no longer can she think of anything but protecting her family, so much so that's she's even gone against every part of her being and signed up for Career training. She's begun to manufacture her own weapons: long-range machinery that can shoot necklace beads at targets meters away, brass knuckles that function as slingshots. Today she's working on fixing spikes to a wooden baseball bat.

She's just set the weapon down to air dry when the boy wanders in, red-hair flying this way and that, hands in his pockets - clearly the type to grab something and run. They used to be protected from all of this, back when Uncle had his connections but he's long gone as well, his list of contacts lost in the rubble. Bette motions to Aja, glances at the boy, glances back down at the cash register, her hand reaching towards the baseball bat, gripping the handle that's hidden underneath the counter. He won't see it coming.

"Hiya," Aja says, walking towards the boy (That's not what I meant Aja I just wanted you to watch out for him stop it come back). "Can I help you? We've got a nice collection of pocket-watches that have just been fixed." Bette slowly walks towards the end of the counters, the baseball bat dragging behind her. She lets it rest against the counter, hands rested on the tabletop, large eyes fixated on every movement, her vision tinged with the cherry-blossom-pink of Aja's voice. "Hey Aja, can you come here for a second?" He could have a gun or something what if he holds her hostage?

Aja turns.

Bette's played chess before; you have to be one step ahead, always ready to attack the opponent with whatever's up your sleeve. Don't reveal your trump cards too early. Above all else though, don't be a moron. Bette wishes she could take back that move because (of course once she turns around he's going to make a break for it and time seems to slow down as Aja turns, her brain whipping in the air. The boy aims a kick at her knee, sending the 14-year old down with a crash and a yelp.

Bette shrieks, a short high-pitched blue that fills her vision for a second before she realizes that I have to go get him and that's ours it's not his he has no right to take it this is all we have left we're barely making by as it is. She grabs the bat with her right hand, noting that Aja's already stood up, brushing the excess dust off of her knee. "I'm fine I'm fine don't worry he went that way!" She points left, down the sidewalk towards the seedier side of town. "Bette he's already gone though and it's just a pocketwatch I mean how much does it co-"

"That's not just our pocketwatch; that was someone's treasure once. Plus it's worth much more than you think it is - it's got actual gold in it and it's the last thing that Father fixed." Bette rushes out the door, slinging the club's strap across her back and grabbing a slingshot with a box of its artillery (stones). "I'll be back," she tell Aja before sprinting off after the redhead. Pawn to E4, Knight to F6. The boy probably doesn't know that he's being followed just yet; he must be focused on the fact that he just stole something and has to get out of there now lest he be caught by something or other. Little does he know that Bette knows these streets like the back of her hand, her wanderings having taken her through alleyways and shadows, darting this way and that, evading drunkards and gang members, hiding behind dumpsters or darting into backyards.

Father wouldn't want the last thing he ever made to be stolen by some street-kid. No, he'd want it to go to someone who deserves it, someone who wanted to surprise someone with it, someone who got it fairly. She's become accustomed to imagining the life a trinket will have with its new owner. A figurine could become a paperweight or a tribute's token, a present to a ten-year-old for acing her exams, a gift for a wife or a husband after long years of marriage. Never does she picture it living the life as a stolen commodity, exchanged from body to body like the flu. Or an STD.

She's sure she's close enough to shoot now. She loads it into the dispenser, aims and fires at his head. He's not near the end of the sidewalk so he won't fall and get killed by a car, so this could at the worst just cause him to trip and fall. He may be an ass but he might not be all bad.

[Bette shoots a pebble at Jeff]
[dice=200+8000]
8162 | Bruised Left Thigh

The pebble flies through the air, and Bette sees a cloud of a rose-colored "What the fuck!?" and she know she's hit her target. Unfortunately he hasn't fallen but stumbles, enough for Bette to be within tackling range. I have to get it back. The boy stumbles around the corner and Bette knows she's got him, knows that she's going to succeed and she'll come back triumphant, holding up the pocketwatch as if she's just won a gold medal at those Olympics that Snow held all those years ago-

She gasps a light yellow as his fist hits her thigh, sending her tumbling down down down to the ground with a clatter of greens as the club scrapes against the sidewalk and clacks of vivid lime as the pebbles go scattering across the street. She scrambles to get up, in panic mode as she realizes that this probably was not the best idea, he could kill me over a pocket-watch and then some Peacekeeper will find me strewn in some trash bin and he won't even blink and eye he'll just shake his head sadly at yet another street urchin who's been killed in combat or maybe he'll be sadistic and snicker at her pain or at her glassy, brown eyes no longer seeing the stars above.

She rubs her thigh briefly as she quickens her steps, moving towards the red-head who's just trying to defend himself from her and her rather intimidating weapons but truth be told Bette doesn't care that she's the aggressor, she just wants to go home, just wants the pocket-watch back, just wants everything to be the way it was before this man walked in the store with his dirty clothes and his jumpy attitude and his audacity to knock down the girl who was only trying to do her job in his mad dash to steal from them, the family who already has too little and has lost too much.

She grabs the bat and holds it with both hands, the spikes glinting in the sunlight. There's no one else on the street; everyone must be at work or loitering somewhere darker, where their actions can't be seen by those who punish. "Just give me the watch," she snaps at him, a vivid green appearing out of nowhere and dissaparating just as quickly. She swings the bat at the wall right next to the boy's head. "Hand it over."

[Bette attacks the wall next to Jeff's head]
[dice=200+7000]
7026 | Just misses his face

Her father always said that you have to show crooks and criminals that you mean business, that you'll stand by your word, that you'll shoot to kill next time they even attempt to take one step into your livelihood and grab a piece of it for themselves. "That's all it is, Bette - a show," filled with masquerades and facades and shadows that move back and forth, frightening the viewer into doing whatever she says.

Her aim was true, as she knows that she would never - no, could never hurt someone else as badly as she's made it seem. The bat, with its dangerous spikes that could kill if she let it, harmlessly miss his ear, the wall, exactly as planned. And on cue, the boy jumps back, calling her insane, grabbing the pocket-watch, throwing it back at her chest. Pain blossoms from the impact point, crackling across her chest and she instinctively paws at it, trying to see what's wrong. It's just a pocket-watch, it can't do too much damage. The watch lands with a clatter on the ground, spewing itself across the ground in little gold pieces that glint in the light.

He always said to treat every trinket like it was a treasure, and here it was now, treated like trash, its pieces rolling on the ground, gears and metal and the minute hand rendered useless by the fall. She stares at it for a second, watching its life force fading until she can no longer see its potential underneath its current state. Bette turns to Jeff, walks towards him ominously, her side throbbing and her bat trailing behind, screeching against the cement sidewalk.

"Get lost," she utters, and swings her fist at the boy to get him started.

[Bette punches Jeff]
[dice=200+5000]
5199 | Gash/Bruised Right Femur