Skye ran, her feet pounding hard asphalt with the kind of force that echoes throughout her entire body. Up her legs and out in waves like ripples in a pond. Fear coursed through her veins making every little thing come alive, burning away the thoughts that don't matter and keeping her alert, and the only thing keeping her alive. Shots ring through the blackness of the night, whizzing by her head. If she were to make it through all of this she wasn't sure that she would need a haircut after her unwanted trim after having had some of her hair shot off.
It seems as though she has stopped paying close enough attention to the ground in front of her, and her path of travel is interrupted by a fire hydrant. Naturally, she trips and falls over it. This is the end of it for me, she knows that now. She has crossed too many lines and she has jumped over too many boundaries wholeheartedly and with both feet.
One of the men has caught up to her now, and she scrambles backwards as quickly as she possibly, trying to get herself back up onto her feet again. It's no use, she's panicking much too much and she raises her arms to cover her face, as though it were any use as he raises his weapon in her direction, point blank range right at her head, about to put her rather short and rather miserable life to an end. She hears a shout, muffled sounds of general ruckus, and grunts of pain.
"Not dead." she mutters to herself, trying to remind herself. "I'm not dead again." Finally she thinks to glance around and to find out why she hasn't died yet, why she hasn't been killed and put to rest finally.
The three men who had been doing their best to take her out it seemed were in a tussle with a singular woman, and somehow it seemed that she was winning, or at least holding her own incredibly well underneath her circumstances. A glint of silver a few feet away from Skye drew her attention and she rushes to get to it, ignoring the burns and aches of torn skin and stretched muscles protesting every movement. She grabs hold of a small revolver and gives it a quick once over. Carefully she manages to figure out how it is used seeing as how she had never ever before even touch a gun so much. She shakily points it at one of the bad guys who had managed to slip out of the woman rescuer's grasp. WIth a small wince at the thought of what she was about to do, she pulls the trigger and quickly looks away. The gu reports and she drops back in fear, making herself a smaller tager out of fear of retaliation. She shrinks back into herself covers her ears at the sound of the scream of pain, and find herself waiting to die again.
"Skye stop that, you're safe now. I've got you." a careful and kind female voice tells her through the blackness and haze of her thoughts. Hesitantly she lowers her arms and peeks through, brown eyes terrified.
"How do you know my name? Why am I not dead?" she asks, completely unaware of where she really was or to whom she was speaking. her voice wavers. "Did I kill him?"
"No darling, that was much too lousy a shot for that. You hit him in the leg. He's not going to die unless it were to get infected or I got him for what he has apparently done to you. This is the fifties and that is no way to treat a lady." the woman says in a very British accent, obviously skirting around all of the other questions.
"You're safe now." she promises and Skye chooses that precise moment to faint.
-----////----
She wakes up later that night in an incredibly lavish living room in a clean nightgown. He has been bathed, changed, and had all of her wounds expertly cleaned, treated and dressed. the woman who rescued her is across the room in the midst of a chess match with her butler. Skye is stunned by the fact that the woman has a butler. She accidentally lets out a groan as she tries to force herself up and into a sitting position against her entire body's protests.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." the woman says in a familiar tone with a charming grin on her face.
"Where am I?" Skye asks immediately in response, trying not to let her charm her out of her suspicious nature. The woman's face falls promptly, clearly having hoped for something else out of her unwitting guest.
