Nada's Escape

17- 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 low fibre bread and its contents of lukewarm sandwich meat festering in my lap. But really I am following the boy's- Darcell's- swagger across the hall from the corner of my eye. He collects up other subtle watchers with every steady 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, worms, weepers and fencers each watching from their own table. Great, I think. This, the devil's child, can only want good things from me.

"What do we have here: Noline, is it?" Coldly amused, the sounds glide lazily 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 even though I can't recall ever having it fixed on me before.

"There's nothing here for you, scum. Leave." I only just refrain from outright cussing. Darcell lifts his gaze to the ceiling; laughing and I watch the vulnerable curve of his throat.

"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. Darcell's gaze doesn't budge from mine and warily I keep a rigid watch on him too.

"Is this her hall?" He challenges. Amy was right: he is here for the fighters.

"She's welcome to think so," I shrug. I feel no need to prove myself to his provocations.

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, I also have a pair of eyes. And then: what exactly did you think you saw here? You're just putting us in your little boxes, aren't you? You really don't know anything about us.

"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 pushes into the elastic bubble that surrounds everyone. The bubble that is just my space; personal space. Fast as lightning down my spine, every muscle tenses, electrified. My body locks into a crystallised stillness. My blood rushes below the surface, just waiting to launch me in any direction.

"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 Darcell's features change 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 throws vicious verbal punches when she wants to.

"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. I step back to enjoy the show. At least I won't have to deal with this on my own. I feels good to share the responsibility of scaring away the pests that sometimes fly into Seven.

"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.