Desmond carefully got up from the bench, tucking his DS away and taking a defensive stance. “I don’t want any trouble, guys. Just leave now and I won’t call the police, OK?”
One of the other men let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Hear that, Jimmy? He says he don’t want any trouble!”
The man with the switchblade held his weapon out, letting the faint streetlights catch off of the metal. “We’re the ones calling the shots here, kid. And we say there won’t be no trouble if you hand over your wallet right now.”
Desmond tried not to show the fear he felt prickling down his spine like shards of ice. He was fairly good at fighting, had been in the mixed martial arts club back in college…but four on one was not good odds by any stretch of the imagination. Plus, one of them had a knife. It looked like Desmond had no choice but to give the thugs what they wanted. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, tossing it to the ground a few feet in front of him. “There. Now leave.”
“Ah-ah-ah,” said Switchblade. “Hand over that DS, too. I’m sure it’ll worth a few bucks.”
“That’s it, Jimmy! Milk ‘im for every cent he’s worth!” Said one of the four men, and the whole group burst out into laughter that grated in Desmond’s ears. The bartender reached into his pocket and clutched the DS close. It would take him weeks to earn enough to buy another one. The DS was practically Desmond’s only source of entertainment these days. And he’d been almost ready to take on the Champion in Pokemon White 2…
The man who’d spoken first let out the fakest, most dramatic sigh Desmond had ever seen. “Jimmy, rough this punk up a bit, why don’t’cha? Show him what happens to boys who don’t pay up like they’re told.”
Jimmy advanced on Desmond, his face twisted into a grin that looked positively demonic. He flipped his blade around carelessly, advancing slowly, almost lazily, on Desmond. “Last chance, kid. Hand over the DS and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”
Desmond backed away slowly. If he was lucky, he might be able to put enough space between him and his attackers in order to make a break for it. Unfortunately, the edge of his sneaker caught on the bench behind him, and Desmond fell right on his ass with a yelp. The group of thugs practically howled with laughter. Jimmy was only a few feet away from Desmond now, his switchblade seeming to fill up the bartender’s entire field of vision. Desmond squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself…
…only to hear Jimmy start shrieking in pain. “MY EYES! GODDAMMIT, MY EYES!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Re: WriterAnon here! Animal Magnetism Part 2/?
One of the other men let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Hear that, Jimmy? He says he don’t want any trouble!”
The man with the switchblade held his weapon out, letting the faint streetlights catch off of the metal. “We’re the ones calling the shots here, kid. And we say there won’t be no trouble if you hand over your wallet right now.”
Desmond tried not to show the fear he felt prickling down his spine like shards of ice. He was fairly good at fighting, had been in the mixed martial arts club back in college…but four on one was not good odds by any stretch of the imagination. Plus, one of them had a knife. It looked like Desmond had no choice but to give the thugs what they wanted. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, tossing it to the ground a few feet in front of him. “There. Now leave.”
“Ah-ah-ah,” said Switchblade. “Hand over that DS, too. I’m sure it’ll worth a few bucks.”
“That’s it, Jimmy! Milk ‘im for every cent he’s worth!” Said one of the four men, and the whole group burst out into laughter that grated in Desmond’s ears. The bartender reached into his pocket and clutched the DS close. It would take him weeks to earn enough to buy another one. The DS was practically Desmond’s only source of entertainment these days. And he’d been almost ready to take on the Champion in Pokemon White 2…
The man who’d spoken first let out the fakest, most dramatic sigh Desmond had ever seen. “Jimmy, rough this punk up a bit, why don’t’cha? Show him what happens to boys who don’t pay up like they’re told.”
Jimmy advanced on Desmond, his face twisted into a grin that looked positively demonic. He flipped his blade around carelessly, advancing slowly, almost lazily, on Desmond. “Last chance, kid. Hand over the DS and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”
Desmond backed away slowly. If he was lucky, he might be able to put enough space between him and his attackers in order to make a break for it. Unfortunately, the edge of his sneaker caught on the bench behind him, and Desmond fell right on his ass with a yelp. The group of thugs practically howled with laughter. Jimmy was only a few feet away from Desmond now, his switchblade seeming to fill up the bartender’s entire field of vision. Desmond squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself…
…only to hear Jimmy start shrieking in pain. “MY EYES! GODDAMMIT, MY EYES!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!”