I can't believe I actually have something to post this Tuesday! Luckily, I have finally started up on my plan to write this break, and even got in on some of the FNW action at Absolute Write. I'll be getting to everybody elses as soon as I can!

“You keep going that slow,” she said. “And I’ll keep letting you hit me.”

He scowled at her, incensed that a drunk sixteen year old girl was toying with him and moved faster. For a moment, Behzad considered letting him get in the faster hit, but the choice was taken out of her hands. He clipped her in the jaw, and she reeled back, shocked that he’d actually landed a hit without her letting him.

Murmurs spread like ripples through a pond. She growled, shaking her head, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears that had started all of a sudden.

His next move came faster and he nearly slammed his fist into his nose. Annahya would probably claim that luck was the only reason she even managed to catch his wrist before it connected. With a snarl that sounded vicious, even to her, she jerked him forward and kneed him in the stomach. He grunted at the force she was able to pack in one movement, but she wasn’t done. Her hands gripped the side of his head, and she slammed it against her knee, before bringing it with a forceful boom to the floor.

She was squatting now, her hand still tangled in his hair, and noticed the blood. With a sigh, she jerked his head up. His nose was broken, blood sliding out of it in dark rivulets. His mouth, which hung open, was also filled with blood. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused.

Behzad sighed in disgust and let his head drop back to the floor. She stumbled to her feet and put her hands out to steady her as the floor tilted up. When she was on her feet, she realized the room had emptied. The outcome of the fight had been faster than what most had wanted, and in the time that it had taken her to stand and steady herself, they had collected their bets and left.

Most of them anyway.

It took her a moment to realize who was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed against his chest. But the moment she did, she groaned. Mihangel, or rather, General Mihangel.

“Looking for this?” he asked, holding up her bottle of rum. Whoever she had handed it to had finished off half of what was left. Not a lot to work with when she still had six hours of daylight to contend with.

“Are you going to give it back?” she asked, walking towards him.

“Considering the fact that you shouldn’t be drinking?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow before upending the bottle and the rest of her day’s coping mechanism. “No.”
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