Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

5.3 Confrontation

At the grate there is a flutter of paper and the bars creak open. I purse my lips and pretend to stare at the lukewarm sandwich meat festering in my lap. But really I am following the boy's swagger across the hall from the corner of my eye. He collects more gazes with every stride.

He walks deep into the hall like he owns the place and soon I can no longer pretend I'm not paying attention. His boots shun the tables and unerringly follow a course to me. I look up from the floor just as they halt before me. I draw myself up, forgetting the sandwich.

An assessing glance tells me he is probably my age, just a shade under my height and though his stride suggests power he is slender in limb and torso. I can't help checking the tables behind him and I catalogue that Seven's inhabitants are arranged just as always: fighters and fencers, worms and weepers, each watching from their own table. Great, I think sarcastically. This Darcell can only want good things from me.

"What do we have here: Noline, is it?" Coldly amused, the words glide through the room and I tense. I'm not about to play nice with an arrogant Huntsman who obviously thinks he owns the whole damn complex.

I turn by best death glare upon the space between his pale eyes and the dirty blonde hair that falls there. His face feels familiar, though I can't recall ever having it fixed on me before.

"There's nothing here for you, scum." I growl.

He lifts his gaze to the ceiling and laughs.

I watch the vulnerable curve of his throat and add, "Leave."

"I'm guessing your name's not Noline then. No, it's not quite right." He steps closer so only a metre separates us. He tries again in falsely conversational tones. "Natalie? Natasha?"

"Hey homicidal jerk! Get out of my hall!" Amy yells out from the top of the closest table. His gaze doesn't flinch from mine and warily I keep a rigid watch on him too.

"Is this her hall?" He challenges. Amy had been right about his intentions then. He's looking to sponsor a fighter. I try not to show my relief at already being spoken for. Now how to turn his attention elsewhere?

"She's welcome to think so," I shrug.

He tilts his head to the side to give me a searching look. "You're too humble. I've been watching."

I know, I think, anyone with a pair of eyes could see that. But what exactly did you think you saw here? Fighters, certainly. Macie and her worms are pretty obvious too. But if he'd bothered to peer beyond the facades and cliques, he'd know I'm not so easily manipulated.

"Then why are you still here?" I push my tone to convey my real meaning: Leave.

"I still don't know your name." He protests. And then he takes a dangerous step forward. I feel it like a physical pressure on my skin, the bubble of personal space around me straining to keep him at bay. Blood rushes underneath my skin, each muscle tensing at the implied threat.

I curl my fingers into a fist at my side. His lips curve a little higher. Shit.

"How about you tell us yours first?" Over his left shoulder Macie smiles like a Cheshire cat. It isn't really a surprise that the rest of the hall is now out of their seats and a smile breaks through my stillness at the twelve very different faces eavesdropping on the stalemate. I watch the amusement drop from his expression as he finally realises the movement behind him. He swings to see a loose half circle of curious Seveners.

"I don't care. I wasn't talking to you pretty-girl, or your crawling friends." He retorts and starts to turn away again when Macie begins speaking slowing, making sure we all hear every word.

"Oh, that's right, I remember you now. Darcell, son of the psycho who managed to get banished from the council." Woah, I almost take a step back. Macie certainly knows how to throw a verbal punch.

"I don't care," Amy cuts in. "I just want him gone." She too stalks towards us over the concrete and I can't help being amused. Looks like I don't have to deal with this alone. It feels good to have backup.

"Ah, I wondered what happened to my discarded goods. Are your punches still as waspish as your words, Amy?" Darcell now stalks towards both Macie and Amy with straight shoulders. Macie isn't here to fight, of course. Her weapons will always be words. I can see that Amy draws confidence from their shared intention all the same. Even if the two of them are ordinarily enemies.

Amy runs at Darcell with a screech of anger. For a second Darcell's body blocks what is happening and I panic that the three musketeers simply loiter back with the others. Amy is fierce but she's tiny and the strength of the fighters is sparring in numbers. I see Darcell stumble back a single step before he deflects Amy to the side.

She crouches like a panting, glaring cat and then Darcell moves with enviable fluidity to sock the side of her neck. All inhibitions leave my mind at the sight of that dreadful impact, which sends her small frame flying. A rush of adrenaline propels my foot in a flying kick to the centre of his back. Before I know it he is sprawled across the concrete and Amy is pummelling his shoulder blades.