Unintended Consequences
Jul. 15th, 2005 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eric_daltonLater that that day.
The window is a hit and every customer who comes in the door that morning comments on it and actually, we’re having a lot more traffic than we normally do on a Friday morning. I exchange a pleased look with Staci, she was a huge help with her paints. I’m really dragging by noon though, and I can’t quite disguise my groan when she comes out from the back and says that Troy has called in sick.
“More like hung over, the idiot.” I scrub at my face, trying to work some energy back. “I’ll stay and close, but I’ve got to catch a nap first. I”ll be upstairs for about an hour.” That shouldn’t leave them short-staffed terribly long, although business hasn’t died off in the afternoon.
I feel better after my nap and I spend the rest of afternoon cheerfully talking to customers, both old and new. We’re closing earlier in the winter because of the shorter nights, and eight o’clock finally rolls around. I send Ruby and Staci home, saying I’ll chase the last few customers out and lock up. I clear out the register and lock the cash in the safe, then start hunting down the stragglers. I quietly shoo out an elderly couple and then I find a young punk-looking guy in the back, browsing the horror section. He’s got a weird tattoo around his neck, but we get all kinds down here, so I politely remind him that it’s after hours. He doesn’t argue and I follow him to the front, picking through my key ring for the door key as he opens the door.
Instead of leaving though, he swings the door open wide and three more youths rush in to the store.
“Hey! What are you doing!”
The only reply is a hard shove to my chest that sends me sprawling. They pull chains, and bats, and pieces of iron from under their clothes. One of them has a weapon like the one Karl found the last time. This one doesn’t have a jacket on, just a black wife-beater, and his arms are covered with tattoos and brands. I focus on them, wondering where I’ve seem something like that before, until I realize that they’re runes from Tolkien.
The first one swings a bat at the female Elf standing up taking her head off. I’m enraged. These have got to be the fuckers that did this the first time.
I surge to my feet, yelling, “No!”
The leader punches me hard, in the nose, and I stagger back, my hand trying to stem the gushing flow of blood.
“Marr shara. You put your faith in the Elves,” he snarls. “But our master, Lord Morgoth, will grind their bones into dust. As he always has.”
“Fuck you.” I swing and connect with his jaw.
He whirls and slices across my chest with that weird weapon. I think only my clothes saved me from being gutted, and I’m thinking about running away, my rage dying into fear. But I think it’s too late.
“You picked the wrong side. We will triumph!”
I’m still on my feet, but I sense movement behind me. Before I can turn around, a cricket bat connects across by spine and the pain nearly drives me to my knees. I try to swing again, my balance off, but he merely reverses the weapon and plants it in my gut. I go down with the breath gushing out of me, and his steel toed boot meets my ribs.
“We will offer this destruction of his enemy’s avatars to our Master.”
The others are gleefully destroying my night’s labor and I try to roll away from the blows raining down on me. A boot savagely snaps my jaw up and my mouth is suddenly full of the tang of blood as I bite my tongue.
“Finish it,” the leader says and I see another bat headed for my face. I twist away and it lands with a funny little crump sound on the side of my head. Pain . . . .
Marr shara - stupid man
The window is a hit and every customer who comes in the door that morning comments on it and actually, we’re having a lot more traffic than we normally do on a Friday morning. I exchange a pleased look with Staci, she was a huge help with her paints. I’m really dragging by noon though, and I can’t quite disguise my groan when she comes out from the back and says that Troy has called in sick.
“More like hung over, the idiot.” I scrub at my face, trying to work some energy back. “I’ll stay and close, but I’ve got to catch a nap first. I”ll be upstairs for about an hour.” That shouldn’t leave them short-staffed terribly long, although business hasn’t died off in the afternoon.
I feel better after my nap and I spend the rest of afternoon cheerfully talking to customers, both old and new. We’re closing earlier in the winter because of the shorter nights, and eight o’clock finally rolls around. I send Ruby and Staci home, saying I’ll chase the last few customers out and lock up. I clear out the register and lock the cash in the safe, then start hunting down the stragglers. I quietly shoo out an elderly couple and then I find a young punk-looking guy in the back, browsing the horror section. He’s got a weird tattoo around his neck, but we get all kinds down here, so I politely remind him that it’s after hours. He doesn’t argue and I follow him to the front, picking through my key ring for the door key as he opens the door.
Instead of leaving though, he swings the door open wide and three more youths rush in to the store.
“Hey! What are you doing!”
The only reply is a hard shove to my chest that sends me sprawling. They pull chains, and bats, and pieces of iron from under their clothes. One of them has a weapon like the one Karl found the last time. This one doesn’t have a jacket on, just a black wife-beater, and his arms are covered with tattoos and brands. I focus on them, wondering where I’ve seem something like that before, until I realize that they’re runes from Tolkien.
The first one swings a bat at the female Elf standing up taking her head off. I’m enraged. These have got to be the fuckers that did this the first time.
I surge to my feet, yelling, “No!”
The leader punches me hard, in the nose, and I stagger back, my hand trying to stem the gushing flow of blood.
“Marr shara. You put your faith in the Elves,” he snarls. “But our master, Lord Morgoth, will grind their bones into dust. As he always has.”
“Fuck you.” I swing and connect with his jaw.
He whirls and slices across my chest with that weird weapon. I think only my clothes saved me from being gutted, and I’m thinking about running away, my rage dying into fear. But I think it’s too late.
“You picked the wrong side. We will triumph!”
I’m still on my feet, but I sense movement behind me. Before I can turn around, a cricket bat connects across by spine and the pain nearly drives me to my knees. I try to swing again, my balance off, but he merely reverses the weapon and plants it in my gut. I go down with the breath gushing out of me, and his steel toed boot meets my ribs.
“We will offer this destruction of his enemy’s avatars to our Master.”
The others are gleefully destroying my night’s labor and I try to roll away from the blows raining down on me. A boot savagely snaps my jaw up and my mouth is suddenly full of the tang of blood as I bite my tongue.
“Finish it,” the leader says and I see another bat headed for my face. I twist away and it lands with a funny little crump sound on the side of my head. Pain . . . .
Marr shara - stupid man
