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Take The Skinheads Bowling

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'Linda' was seen more and more around the shelter, maybe once or twice a week, and she always had a friendly word for Father Jim and Sister Claire, who's gumbo was just as good as Nightrival said it was. Sometimes she even helped with the food service; thankfully she was a lot cleaner than most of the other homeless who came in night after cold winter night, so no one complained. Sometimes Nightrival would show up and they would head out the back exit; everyone assumed she was giving him tips, things she heard on the street. And when he didn't show, she would smile, push the hair out of her eyes, wash up and grab an apron...

Grim was hoping he would show tonight; she'd been itching for a fight all day, ever since 11 o' clock that morning when some suit had told her to 'get a job or go home'. She had a snowball firmly packed and ready to fly before you could say 'misdemeanor', but she let it fall to the ground, determined to imagine his fat stupid face on the head of every thug she trounced tonight. As she sat at the crowded table contemplating her tray of 'turkey loaf', she steepled her fingers in mock villainy.

Tonight, vengeance...will be mine!

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'Linda' was seen more and more around the shelter, maybe once or twice a week, and she always had a friendly word for Father Jim and Sister Claire, who's gumbo was just as good as Nightrival said it was. Sometimes she even helped with the food service; thankfully she was a lot cleaner than most of the other homeless who came in night after cold winter night, so no one complained. Sometimes Nightrival would show up and they would head out the back exit; everyone assumed she was giving him tips, things she heard on the street. And when he didn't show, she would smile, push the hair out of her eyes, wash up and grab an apron...

Grim was hoping he would show tonight; she'd been itching for a fight all day, ever since 11 o' clock that morning when some suit had told her to 'get a job or go home'. She had a snowball firmly packed and ready to fly before you could say 'misdemeanor', but she let it fall to the ground, determined to imagine his fat stupid face on the head of every thug she trounced tonight. As she sat at the crowded table contemplating her tray of 'turkey loaf', she steepled her fingers in mock villainy.

Tonight, vengeance...will be mine!

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'Linda' was seen more and more around the shelter, maybe once or twice a week, and she always had a friendly word for Father Jim and Sister Claire, who's gumbo was just as good as Nightrival said it was. Sometimes she even helped with the food service; thankfully she was a lot cleaner than most of the other homeless who came in night after cold winter night, so no one complained. Sometimes Nightrival would show up and they would head out the back exit; everyone assumed she was giving him tips, things she heard on the street. And when he didn't show, she would smile, push the hair out of her eyes, wash up and grab an apron...

Grim was hoping he would show tonight; she'd been itching for a fight all day, ever since 11 o' clock that morning when some suit had told her to 'get a job or go home'. She had a snowball firmly packed and ready to fly before you could say 'misdemeanor', but she let it fall to the ground, determined to imagine his fat stupid face on the head of every thug she trounced tonight. As she sat at the crowded table contemplating her tray of 'turkey loaf', she steepled her fingers in mock villainy.

Tonight, vengeance...will be mine!

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Propped up against a wall under a blanket of garbage, Nightrival lifts up the bottom of his mask and spits out a thick glob of blood. He slides his finger under his lip and wiggles one of his molars; the tooth gyrates inside the socket when he rubs it.

Four Brotherhood skinheads lie at his feet, their faces battered into swollen blackened messes.

Chump got lucky with that bat, he muses. The loose molar drops into his hand. Dang it. I gotta get some ice.

He picks himself up from the pavement and staggers a few feet before his hands find a fire escape. Slowly, for his left shoulder feels as though it's burning, he pulls his tired body up to the stairwell and with laborious strain he drags his legs to the roof. The sky is cluttered with thick gray clouds. A siren wails in the distance. Nightrival, like a puppeteer yanking invisible threads, forces himself to jog towards Our Lady of Mercy.

Half an hour later, he finally arrives at the familiar back entrance belonging to the shelter. Since Nightrival began his crusade, the staff and volunteers have kindly offered him food and first aid on occasion. He knocks on the door and leans against the wall. A minute later, a young woman wearing a FCU sweatshirt opens the door.

"You again?" she asks teasingly.

"Yeah, hey. Ya got any ice?"

"Sure," she replies, and steps aside to allow him inside.

Nightrival limps through the door and greets a few passing volunteers. The young woman who answered the door struts past him, opens a refrigerator and after a few tugs she yanks out an ice cube tray from the freezer. She bends the tray and cracks the ice, removes a dish towel and dumps ice cubes into it. After tying off the towel she tosses it to Nightrival, who catches it. He presses the ice against his jaw.

"Thanks," he says.

"No problem. Stay out of trouble, alright?"

"Ya got it."

The young woman smiles and turns away to continue working. Nightrival slumps against a wall facing the kitchen's appliances and savours the cooling sensation filling his jaw, extinguishing the fiery pain shooting into his skull. Bloody, bruised and reeking of garbage, he prays he doesn't bump into anyone he knows.

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Propped up against a wall under a blanket of garbage, Nightrival lifts up the bottom of his mask and spits out a thick glob of blood. He slides his finger under his lip and wiggles one of his molars; the tooth gyrates inside the socket when he rubs it.

Four Brotherhood skinheads lie at his feet, their faces battered into swollen blackened messes.

Chump got lucky with that bat, he muses. The loose molar drops into his hand. Dang it. I gotta get some ice.

He picks himself up from the pavement and staggers a few feet before his hands find a fire escape. Slowly, for his left shoulder feels as though it's burning, he pulls his tired body up to the stairwell and with laborious strain he drags his legs to the roof. The sky is cluttered with thick gray clouds. A siren wails in the distance. Nightrival, like a puppeteer yanking invisible threads, forces himself to jog towards Our Lady of Mercy.

Half an hour later, he finally arrives at the familiar back entrance belonging to the shelter. Since Nightrival began his crusade, the staff and volunteers have kindly offered him food and first aid on occasion. He knocks on the door and leans against the wall. A minute later, a young woman wearing a FCU sweatshirt opens the door.

"You again?" she asks teasingly.

"Yeah, hey. Ya got any ice?"

"Sure," she replies, and steps aside to allow him inside.

Nightrival limps through the door and greets a few passing volunteers. The young woman who answered the door struts past him, opens a refrigerator and after a few tugs she yanks out an ice cube tray from the freezer. She bends the tray and cracks the ice, removes a dish towel and dumps ice cubes into it. After tying off the towel she tosses it to Nightrival, who catches it. He presses the ice against his jaw.

"Thanks," he says.

"No problem. Stay out of trouble, alright?"

"Ya got it."

The young woman smiles and turns away to continue working. Nightrival slumps against a wall facing the kitchen's appliances and savours the cooling sensation filling his jaw, extinguishing the fiery pain shooting into his skull. Bloody, bruised and reeking of garbage, he prays he doesn't bump into anyone he knows.

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Grim was hoping he would show tonight; she'd been itching for a fight all day, ever since 11 o' clock that morning when some suit had told her to 'get a job or go home'. She had a snowball firmly packed and ready to fly before you could say 'misdemeanor', but she let it fall to the ground, determined to imagine his fat stupid face on the head of every thug she trounced tonight. As she sat at the crowded table contemplating her tray of 'turkey loaf', she steepled her fingers in mock villainy.

Tonight, vengeance...will be mine!

Tonight was like most other nights for Grim. The homeless people that entered were mostly unwashed but usually jovial. Having a place to warm up and get a decent meal always helped raise the spirits of people down on their luck. The people that passed her always gave a greeting of some kind, a common occurance with kindred souls.

Tonight, however, Grim noticed a slight difference in the large number of people in the shelter. Most were dirty as usual, but Grim could see a lot more bruises than usual. A small group of people had gathered at one of the tables, their heads bent close together. Within that group alone, half of the people seemed to sport some kind of recent injury.

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Grim was hoping he would show tonight; she'd been itching for a fight all day, ever since 11 o' clock that morning when some suit had told her to 'get a job or go home'. She had a snowball firmly packed and ready to fly before you could say 'misdemeanor', but she let it fall to the ground, determined to imagine his fat stupid face on the head of every thug she trounced tonight. As she sat at the crowded table contemplating her tray of 'turkey loaf', she steepled her fingers in mock villainy.

Tonight, vengeance...will be mine!

Tonight was like most other nights for Grim. The homeless people that entered were mostly unwashed but usually jovial. Having a place to warm up and get a decent meal always helped raise the spirits of people down on their luck. The people that passed her always gave a greeting of some kind, a common occurance with kindred souls.

Tonight, however, Grim noticed a slight difference in the large number of people in the shelter. Most were dirty as usual, but Grim could see a lot more bruises than usual. A small group of people had gathered at one of the tables, their heads bent close together. Within that group alone, half of the people seemed to sport some kind of recent injury.

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The young woman smiles and turns away to continue working. Nightrival slumps against a wall facing the kitchen's appliances and savours the cooling sensation filling his jaw, extinguishing the fiery pain shooting into his skull. Bloody, bruised and reeking of garbage, he prays he doesn't bump into anyone he knows.

While sitting in the kitchen, the back door opened letting Father Jim Murphy in. The priest stomped his feet to remove the snow from his boots. The last fringes of cigarette smoke wafted into nothingness behind him. Fr. Murphy looked about to make sure that Sister Claire hadn't been in the area before moving deeper into the kitchen. As he closed the door, Father Murphy noticed Nightrival against the wall.

"Looks like you had a busy night out there, son. I guess it's to be expected with all the news I've been hearing lately," Father Murphay said as he moved closer to the sitting hero.

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The young woman smiles and turns away to continue working. Nightrival slumps against a wall facing the kitchen's appliances and savours the cooling sensation filling his jaw, extinguishing the fiery pain shooting into his skull. Bloody, bruised and reeking of garbage, he prays he doesn't bump into anyone he knows.

While sitting in the kitchen, the back door opened letting Father Jim Murphy in. The priest stomped his feet to remove the snow from his boots. The last fringes of cigarette smoke wafted into nothingness behind him. Fr. Murphy looked about to make sure that Sister Claire hadn't been in the area before moving deeper into the kitchen. As he closed the door, Father Murphy noticed Nightrival against the wall.

"Looks like you had a busy night out there, son. I guess it's to be expected with all the news I've been hearing lately," Father Murphay said as he moved closer to the sitting hero.

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Tonight, however, Grim noticed a slight difference in the large number of people in the shelter. Most were dirty as usual, but Grim could see a lot more bruises than usual. A small group of people had gathered at one of the tables, their heads bent close together. Within that group alone, half of the people seemed to sport some kind of recent injury.

Frowning, Lynn excuses herself and picks up her tray, then makes her way over to the heavily injured table.

"Hi, do you mind if I join you?"

She takes a seat and studies the faces of those around her; yep, these were the signs of violence, she was sure of it. After forcing down some more of her dinner (it wasn't all that bad, but her heightened smell did weird things to the taste of processed meat), she clears her throat and indicates a swollen eye with her fork.

"Forgive me for prying, but what happened to your face? To all your faces?"

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Tonight, however, Grim noticed a slight difference in the large number of people in the shelter. Most were dirty as usual, but Grim could see a lot more bruises than usual. A small group of people had gathered at one of the tables, their heads bent close together. Within that group alone, half of the people seemed to sport some kind of recent injury.

Frowning, Lynn excuses herself and picks up her tray, then makes her way over to the heavily injured table.

"Hi, do you mind if I join you?"

She takes a seat and studies the faces of those around her; yep, these were the signs of violence, she was sure of it. After forcing down some more of her dinner (it wasn't all that bad, but her heightened smell did weird things to the taste of processed meat), she clears her throat and indicates a swollen eye with her fork.

"Forgive me for prying, but what happened to your face? To all your faces?"

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NightrivalHS.jpg

"Looks like you had a busy night out there, son. I guess it's to be expected with all the news I've been hearing lately," says Father Murphy said he moves closer to the sitting hero.

It ain't nothin'," replies Nightrival, "jus' a bit o' comestic damage." He juggles the icepack in his hand and thinks for a moment. For some reason, his heart sinks fast into his stomach when he hears the tone in the priest's voice. "What kind of news 'ave you been hearin', Father?

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"Looks like you had a busy night out there, son. I guess it's to be expected with all the news I've been hearing lately," says Father Murphy said he moves closer to the sitting hero.

It ain't nothin'," replies Nightrival, "jus' a bit o' comestic damage." He juggles the icepack in his hand and thinks for a moment. For some reason, his heart sinks fast into his stomach when he hears the tone in the priest's voice. "What kind of news 'ave you been hearin', Father?

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Frowning, Lynn excuses herself and picks up her tray, then makes her way over to the heavily injured table.

"Hi, do you mind if I join you?"

She takes a seat and studies the faces of those around her; yep, these were the signs of violence, she was sure of it. After forcing down some more of her dinner (it wasn't all that bad, but her heightened smell did weird things to the taste of processed meat), she clears her throat and indicates a swollen eye with her fork.

"Forgive me for prying, but what happened to your face? To all your faces?"

The group of people are made up of mostly men but a few women and children are mixed in the group. It takes thema moment to take in Grim's appearance, but then after figuring she was like them, homeless and not one of the college kids trying to appease their sense of moral guilt, made room for the girl to join them.

The man with the swollen eye looked to be in his early thirties but the dirt, bruises, and genreal roughness of his lifestyle made it difficult to be sure. "Those punks out there, that's what happened," he says and makes to spit. Right before the phlegm can leave his mouth, he remembers where he is and aims instead into his cup. Some of the other people in the small group with gresh bruises of their own nod their heads in agreement.

One of the women speaks up to clarify the statement. "It seems the neighborhood gangs have gotten fairly physical recently. Looking to rob even us! Like we have any money. When we tell them we don't have any, they get rough." She looks at some of the other faces for a moment before looking at Grim. "If you're lucky, they'll only give you a beating. Sometimes, they decide to take....more than a pound of flesh. You've got a pretty face so I'd stay here and avoid the streets if I was you."

A few of the other women in the group nof their heads vigorously. A few of the men make fists as the only sign of their frustrated anger.

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Frowning, Lynn excuses herself and picks up her tray, then makes her way over to the heavily injured table.

"Hi, do you mind if I join you?"

She takes a seat and studies the faces of those around her; yep, these were the signs of violence, she was sure of it. After forcing down some more of her dinner (it wasn't all that bad, but her heightened smell did weird things to the taste of processed meat), she clears her throat and indicates a swollen eye with her fork.

"Forgive me for prying, but what happened to your face? To all your faces?"

The group of people are made up of mostly men but a few women and children are mixed in the group. It takes thema moment to take in Grim's appearance, but then after figuring she was like them, homeless and not one of the college kids trying to appease their sense of moral guilt, made room for the girl to join them.

The man with the swollen eye looked to be in his early thirties but the dirt, bruises, and genreal roughness of his lifestyle made it difficult to be sure. "Those punks out there, that's what happened," he says and makes to spit. Right before the phlegm can leave his mouth, he remembers where he is and aims instead into his cup. Some of the other people in the small group with gresh bruises of their own nod their heads in agreement.

One of the women speaks up to clarify the statement. "It seems the neighborhood gangs have gotten fairly physical recently. Looking to rob even us! Like we have any money. When we tell them we don't have any, they get rough." She looks at some of the other faces for a moment before looking at Grim. "If you're lucky, they'll only give you a beating. Sometimes, they decide to take....more than a pound of flesh. You've got a pretty face so I'd stay here and avoid the streets if I was you."

A few of the other women in the group nof their heads vigorously. A few of the men make fists as the only sign of their frustrated anger.

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"It ain't nothin'," replies Nightrival, "jus' a bit o' comestic damage." He juggles the icepack in his hand and thinks for a moment. For some reason, his heart sinks fast into his stomach when he hears the tone in the priest's voice. "What kind of news 'ave you been hearin', Father?

Father Murphy sits down next to Nightrival. "Well, it's nothing direct, see? Even though the people know I'm here to help, they are still fairly reluctant to confine in me." Father Murphy looks about the kitchen at the various college students moving about. He smiles and nods to a few of the students that meet his gaze. "But I've got eyes, son. I may not be as observant as you or the other supers patrolling the streets of Freedom, but it's hard to miss the increase in bruised faces coming through our doors."

Gather Murphy reached for the pack of cigarettes his hid in his coat pocket but stopped when he realized he was actually inside at the moment. He smiled weakly at the self proclaimed protector of Southside before deliberately moving his hand away from the pack. His smile faded and his face took on the more worried look of a sheperd watching his flock slowly being mutilated by some unknown force. "They won't talk to me, Nightrival, and if they don't talk, there is nothing I can do to help. Perhaps you could reach them where I could not. They adore you. Everytime you walk out there, I see their faces light up with hope for a better tomorrow."

Gather Murphy patted Nightrival on the knee and stood up. "I better get back to work before Sister Claire comes looking for me." He smiled once again before moving away, leaving Nightrival to his own thoughts.

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"It ain't nothin'," replies Nightrival, "jus' a bit o' comestic damage." He juggles the icepack in his hand and thinks for a moment. For some reason, his heart sinks fast into his stomach when he hears the tone in the priest's voice. "What kind of news 'ave you been hearin', Father?

Father Murphy sits down next to Nightrival. "Well, it's nothing direct, see? Even though the people know I'm here to help, they are still fairly reluctant to confine in me." Father Murphy looks about the kitchen at the various college students moving about. He smiles and nods to a few of the students that meet his gaze. "But I've got eyes, son. I may not be as observant as you or the other supers patrolling the streets of Freedom, but it's hard to miss the increase in bruised faces coming through our doors."

Gather Murphy reached for the pack of cigarettes his hid in his coat pocket but stopped when he realized he was actually inside at the moment. He smiled weakly at the self proclaimed protector of Southside before deliberately moving his hand away from the pack. His smile faded and his face took on the more worried look of a sheperd watching his flock slowly being mutilated by some unknown force. "They won't talk to me, Nightrival, and if they don't talk, there is nothing I can do to help. Perhaps you could reach them where I could not. They adore you. Everytime you walk out there, I see their faces light up with hope for a better tomorrow."

Gather Murphy patted Nightrival on the knee and stood up. "I better get back to work before Sister Claire comes looking for me." He smiled once again before moving away, leaving Nightrival to his own thoughts.

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Father Murphy pats Nightrival on the knee and stands up. "I better get back to work before Sister Claire comes looking for me." He smiled once again before moving away, leaving Nightrival to his own thoughts.

"Right. See ya around." Nightrival returns the icepack to his aching jaw.

He sighs, then waits a few moments before the swelling shrinks and the pain ebbs away. Nightrival closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths, visualizing the stinging ache as a pale pebble he picks up from a shore and throws into a still lake, its surface shimmering with morning light. After a minute his jaw, shoulder and legs renew their vigour. He removes his tooth from under his belt, drops it into the remaining ice and strolls across the kitchen to cram the icepack into the refrigerator.

A dentist can shove that back in tomorrow; I hope my coverage from th' warehouse can cover it. He closes the refrigerator door and looks past the doors leading to the serving counter and the dining room. I got bigger problems right now. The Brotherhood is all riled up, but why? Maybe Jim's right and I should ask some o' th' locals. I gotta end this.

Nightrival stretches his neck before he exits the kitchen and walks into the dining room. The patrons are deeply engrossed in a conversation. He finds an empty table near the counter and sits on it, facing the crowd. He loudly clears his throat.

"Um, hey everyone. Ya got a minute?"

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Father Murphy pats Nightrival on the knee and stands up. "I better get back to work before Sister Claire comes looking for me." He smiled once again before moving away, leaving Nightrival to his own thoughts.

"Right. See ya around." Nightrival returns the icepack to his aching jaw.

He sighs, then waits a few moments before the swelling shrinks and the pain ebbs away. Nightrival closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths, visualizing the stinging ache as a pale pebble he picks up from a shore and throws into a still lake, its surface shimmering with morning light. After a minute his jaw, shoulder and legs renew their vigour. He removes his tooth from under his belt, drops it into the remaining ice and strolls across the kitchen to cram the icepack into the refrigerator.

A dentist can shove that back in tomorrow; I hope my coverage from th' warehouse can cover it. He closes the refrigerator door and looks past the doors leading to the serving counter and the dining room. I got bigger problems right now. The Brotherhood is all riled up, but why? Maybe Jim's right and I should ask some o' th' locals. I gotta end this.

Nightrival stretches his neck before he exits the kitchen and walks into the dining room. The patrons are deeply engrossed in a conversation. He finds an empty table near the counter and sits on it, facing the crowd. He loudly clears his throat.

"Um, hey everyone. Ya got a minute?"

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Lynn's stomach knots itself into a fist of rage and nausea as the injured describe the source of their suffering; the stories of the women in particular stab her heart like ice needles. When at last she finds the power to speak, her words are choked with anger.

"Who....which gang? Who did this?"

She can hear blood rushing in her ears, and feel her claws sprouting involuntarily as she clenches her fists under the table, biting into the flesh of her palms.

"Um, hey everyone. Ya got a minute?"

Oh thank God - I can't hope to kill them all by myself. :evil:

'Linda' attempts to catch Nightrival's eye with a nod of her head, letting him know that she is here and more than ready.

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Lynn's stomach knots itself into a fist of rage and nausea as the injured describe the source of their suffering; the stories of the women in particular stab her heart like ice needles. When at last she finds the power to speak, her words are choked with anger.

"Who....which gang? Who did this?"

She can hear blood rushing in her ears, and feel her claws sprouting involuntarily as she clenches her fists under the table, biting into the flesh of her palms.

"Um, hey everyone. Ya got a minute?"

Oh thank God - I can't hope to kill them all by myself. :evil:

'Linda' attempts to catch Nightrival's eye with a nod of her head, letting him know that she is here and more than ready.

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Lynn's stomach knots itself into a fist of rage and nausea as the injured describe the source of their suffering; the stories of the women in particular stab her heart like ice needles. When at last she finds the power to speak, her words are choked with anger.

"Who....which gang? Who did this?"

She can hear blood rushing in her ears, and feel her claws sprouting involuntarily as she clenches her fists under the table, biting into the flesh of her palms.

The talkative woman places her hands on her hips and rolls her head when she replies to Grim. "Honey, there's not but one gang that controls this part of town and that's the Brotherhood."

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Lynn's stomach knots itself into a fist of rage and nausea as the injured describe the source of their suffering; the stories of the women in particular stab her heart like ice needles. When at last she finds the power to speak, her words are choked with anger.

"Who....which gang? Who did this?"

She can hear blood rushing in her ears, and feel her claws sprouting involuntarily as she clenches her fists under the table, biting into the flesh of her palms.

The talkative woman places her hands on her hips and rolls her head when she replies to Grim. "Honey, there's not but one gang that controls this part of town and that's the Brotherhood."

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Oh thank God - I can't hope to kill them all by myself. :evil:

'Linda' attempts to catch Nightrival's eye with a nod of her head, letting him know that she is here and more than ready.

The crowd of people turn at teh sound of Nightribal's voice. Faces light up as usual and a few fingers point out the neighborhood hero. Scattered voices through the room could be heard.

"Look, it's Nightrival!"

"I heard he was ten feet tall. He don't look so tough."

"Anything for you, Nightrival! You're the man!"

"Mommy, is he going to bad men?"

"Nightrival, we love you!"

The last call caused a number of people to laugh out loud, an all too rare sound in the Church, which subsided to silence to hear what the man had to say.

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Oh thank God - I can't hope to kill them all by myself. :evil:

'Linda' attempts to catch Nightrival's eye with a nod of her head, letting him know that she is here and more than ready.

The crowd of people turn at teh sound of Nightribal's voice. Faces light up as usual and a few fingers point out the neighborhood hero. Scattered voices through the room could be heard.

"Look, it's Nightrival!"

"I heard he was ten feet tall. He don't look so tough."

"Anything for you, Nightrival! You're the man!"

"Mommy, is he going to bad men?"

"Nightrival, we love you!"

The last call caused a number of people to laugh out loud, an all too rare sound in the Church, which subsided to silence to hear what the man had to say.

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