"Imogen!" I call out onto the empty streets of Textile District. I cross a street snd then cross five more after that. I travel like an ant, sporadic and checking into every nook and cranny. The streetlights blink onto inhabited side walks. I move fast, my mind and my body in sync. My body races through the streets and my mind races with thoughts. I feel terrible for saying such disgusting things.
I find her six blocks away, in between multiple alley ways I've crossed. She's there and I'm not surprised, but upset. She's circled around a ring of boys. I stand in the limelight of a lamppost, they don't notice me. She giggles and twirls her hair.
Boy One: "You're pretty, you know?"
Boy Two: "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be out this late alone. Why're you alone?" he laughs and rests his hand on the wall behind him.
Imogen: "Oh, haha, I got into a fight with my friend," her eyelashes bat and she pushes her chest forward. I sigh, how crazy could she be if she doesn't mean it? If she doesn't desire it? I smile a bit, too, as she referred to me as her friend.
Boy Three: "How about we take you home?"
Imogen: "No, no," she puts her hands up and steps back, "We shouldn't."
The boys look at each other and chuckle. A warm, wet laugh. Then, their laughs become harsh and scratchy. Menacing and sketchy. Boy One raises an arm:
"Undefined Boundaries!" he yells and a green bean zaps her in the chest. Her shirt literally zaps away. Leaving her in her bra, panicking, nervous, and embarrassed. She doesn't fluster to cover herself up. She becomes her sassy, steamy self. She takes her palms together. A circular grenade forms in her hand. I rush out of the dim light of the lamp. I aid behind her and the boys.
"Imogen!" I screech, "They're a gang!" I fluster and her eyes grow wide and her countenance grows even angrier. She spits out a string of unattractive curse words.
"Explosive Re-," Imogen growls and grows the magic power surrounding her grenade. Boy Three cuts her off before she can finish and sends a anti-magic defense bubble around her. She trashes in the bubble, with the grenade idle in her hands. She pounds against the filmy layer of the shell. She cannot pop it. I slap my hands together and make a spark. Boy Two, he seems to be powerless, throws a punch at me. I grab his fist and clutch onto his skin, making it white. I dig my nails into it, drawing blood from the sharpness of my fingertips. I send a large jolt of electricity into my hands and fry his skin. I release his arm, he staggers, and I drive my knee into his testicles. He sinks to his knees, clutching his tender crotch. If Eunice has taught me anything about relentless men: go for their weak point first.
"Celestia!" Imogen cries, "Behind you!" I swing my head behind myself, only to find Boy One there. He swings his fist upward into my nose. He knuckles hit my soft tissue and my nostrils spit out a stream of sucking blood. The cartilage stings with pain. He drives his thick kneecap into my stomach. On impact it hits my vital organs and a thick slew of blood flies from my agape mouth. I'm drilled into the ground.
"Son of a bitch!" Imogen screams and violently kicks her bubble. Boy Three hovers over me, healed from his penis kick, he hovers his arm over me. A bubble defensive toward magical capabilities forms over me as well.
Boy Two cracks his knuckles, "Which should we start with first?"
"The prettier one," Boy One says and points to
Imogen. Boy Three pops his bubble and before Imogen had the chance to create another grenade, Boy One sends another green beam at her shorts. They disintegrate into the night air and this time Imogen becomes very weary and places her hands over her underwear.
