✰ 𝖳𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇 ✰ | 𝗜𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

𝗖 𝗛 𝗔 𝗣 𝗧 𝗘 𝗥 𝗧 𝗪 𝗢 - 𝖯𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖾.

...

Helping people was not in her job description. (Okay, a hypothetical job description for a member of a criminal organisation...)

But here she was, stray hairs blowing in the wind as her boot-clad feet thudded onto the cobble; the adrenaline shooting through her veins numbing the growing pain in her calf.

Delilah's stomach churned, her body beginning to feel hot as sweat formed on her forehead as the crowd's watchful eyes burned holes through her figure. Her head felt like it was in a vacuum chamber, and that pain that plagued her calf began to throb in a rhythmic sort of pattern.

"Fuck it.", She painted on a smug grin, as she steadied her breath; her veins filling with adrenaline that numbed her pains once more.

The same soft, Hazel-eyes behind the shade of her cap darkened in the way that caused despair to wash over her enemies during their untimely deaths. The fact that she could switch her demeanour in a snap of the finger gained her a reputation; Although, nobody really knew who the real 'Demon of Brussels' was, as 'he' was a master of disguise, which was also played a part in her nickname being whispered in the back-alleys of Belgium.

A part of her desperately attempted to halt the fist that came in contact with the back of the attacker's head, but the thoughts were smothered like a flame in an instant.

Okay, the attacker is much, much taller, and definitely way bulkier than her in stature. She may have overlooked that fact when scanning the situation...

The man grasped the Trench-coat on her body with his thick, sausage-like fingers, locking her in place. Delilah's heart palpitated in a sickly manner as the anxiety that ran through her body came surging back in waves.

Fine, you wanna fight dirty? We can fight dirty.

Slipping out of the bulk of fabric, she turned to face the male, kicking him in the groin which caused a loud, breathless cry to reverberate across the square, and her coat to fly out of his fingers; her leather bag long forgotten on the pavement. In his weakened state, she managed to snatch a worn zippo and a pack of cigarettes. It was to be noted that she needed some sort of opening to steal his well-guarded pistol that was outlined in the fabric of his coat.

She took the liberty to light one up, stuffing the objects into her pocket.

She could tell by the lack of cigars or known organisation logos that he was just a petty thief, or simply a pawn desperately trying to pay back his debts. In her years of being involved in crime, the cheesy stereotypes were somewhat true...

"Malboros, huh? Not a bad lighter either..." She stated aloud, with a sort of playfulness in her voice, sniggering as he stumbled around, tripping on his own two feet.

His face turned an unsightly shade of raw-meat-red, in fact-he kind of looked like a piece of raw meat; his face twisted and deformed into one of rage. In his fury, he began to charge at her, "W-why you-"

It was almost comical how his behaviour mirrored that of an enemy in a game. Delilah puffed out a cloud of smoke in his face, his mouth open in shock, displaying his wonderful set of rotted, yellow teeth, as his bulky body skidded across the stone.

"Just who do you think you are, kid-" He panted, the thick-accented words just slipping out of his tight, shallow breaths. She sauntered to his figure in a slow, even pace, humming a tune and picking up the gun just out of the attackers reach,

"It took me awhile to obtain this! Y'know, that was an amateur move-keeping your gun in your coat pocket." She explained, cigarette in mouth as she spun the gun in a fluid, practiced motion, the clicking a contrast to the ever silent crowd as she pointed the weapon to the man on the floor.

It was an amateur move to lose your target so easily too...

"Behind you!"

The warmth of another person hit her bare skin as the sound of shattering glass hit her ears. The loaded gun was lost, probably somewhere in the crowd, and her bones creaked as the weight of the mysterious person pressed against her leg. She thanked her lucky stars that the cobble was smooth, and she didn't sustain any injuries. She would thank said person on her right now, but thanks to them the gun was lost in the thick of the crowd! She didn't even know who-

"Tintin!"

In the flesh, the reporter stood-well...sat, on the floor in all his ginger-haired, boyish-faced glory. Yes, there were a couple of hairs straying from the quiff his locks were styled in, and shallow, minor scrapes on his palms from the fall, but he was here. Of course, a reporter couldn't miss out on any opportunities for a potential story; even if they sacrificed life n' limb for it... (Which happened often with the boy, as seen in various papers.)

"The Thom(p)sons!"

With strong connections to the Police, of course the two detectives followed at his heel, like a dog. It was strange really, that Tintin's white-haired companion wasn't seen at his side. She wondered whether the sailor with the knack for having colourful curses slip out of his mouth was nearby, (Haddock? She guessed, as the reporter only referred to him as 'Captain' from the time period she's watched him so far.) but dropped that thought, as she watched the two perpetrators were slipped into the rigid metal cuffs that she'd had prior experience slipping out of.

"You are under arrest!" A booming, English-accented voice snapped her back into reality. The owner's brow was creased and lips pressed into a line as he stared down the thugs; their heads held down low as the eyes of the crowd burned holes in their backs.

The identical man, who's voice was an octave lower which differentiated the two grabbed the thug's handcuffed wrists, adding onto his colleagues previous statement, To be precise, arrest you are...under.", He shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he dragged the criminals away, the crowd parting like The Red Sea did for Moses; The Sea being the crowd and Moses being the newly-formed party of persons...

Well, that's that...

Delilah simply sat there in awe of the situation, stifling a laugh at how comical everything was. On one hand, she'd made a right fool out of herself falling arse-over-tit in front of probably the entire population of Brussels. On the other hand, her 'stalling' made it so that the Police could arrive on time. She let out a long-winded sigh and pulled the brim of her hat lower; Obstructing her view of the various stares.

"Are you alright?" A hand came into her view, along with the weight on her back vanishing. Tintin. His face was at eye level with her now, as he waved the hand in her view, "Hello? Excuse me?"

She jumped a little "Oh-erm...Ye-I mean, yes, I'm quite well, merci.", She accepted the hand with a sheepish grin in slight embarrassment of her vocal slip-up, dusting herself off. She pushed the brim off her hat up slightly, darting her gaze away from the confused boys looks.

A smile graced his lips in replacement, his body language radiating an energy of friendliness and warmth," Anyway, well uh-sorry to startle you-Well, I'm sorry for pushing you out of the way with no warning, I hope you weren't hurt by me or those men." He stopped pacing around and gazed at her belongings on the floor, guiding them to their direction, "Here, I'll help you with your things..."

There was a pregnant pause between the conversation, as she began to pick up the innards of her bag. A well loved camera, spare rolls of film, note-writing apparatus and a Yellow envelope, the papers sticking out slightly.

Well, she hoped that the camera wasn't shattered beyond repair, as she bent down, her knees touching the pavement.

...

Author's Section.

I'm gonna be honest, I'm not experienced in writing action. How did I go ?? I tried to show Delilah's fighting style (?) I guess. I also apologise for the 'info-dumpy' bits, I couldn't think of anything better to write...

I tried to build tension to make it a real page-turner, but eh.

With love