The Warriors: Heavyweights
Posted: Sun Dec 13, 2009 6:57 pm
ive reposted my work in progress/draft story that i started under the "what do you wanna see?" thread and added some more. thanks for the prod ladywarrior 
the working title is
"The Warriors: Heavyweights"
“Shit.”
Rembrandt shook the shell of his spray paint, with a desperate rattle.
“Hurry up, man.” Cowboy looked behind him, restlessly.
He squeezed the cap until it pushed into his fingertip more than the can. A few drops, Warrior red, spurted out, falling short of the wall. That was it. His burner looked back at him, incomplete.
“Oh, no.” He threw the can to the ground in frustration.
“That's all you brought? We were supposed to bomb this place! Aww, crap.”
In a flash, Rembrandt and Cowboy leaped to the wall - the shadows. Instinct. The sound of breaking glass had broken the still air.
“We oughtta go, man.” said Rembrandt. He was edgy. Behind enemy lines anything could happen - he knew that. Cowboy narrowed his eyes.
“One minute, Rembrandt.”
Crouching, he moved to the edge of the wall. He looked into the street light to see what was about to go down.
In Coney, Snow and Cochise sat in the neon twilight, on top of the hangout. The Wonder Wheel rotated with a mechanical grace and the night was quiet. The waves gently broke on the boardwalk. About twenty feet from the hangout a trash can burned beside a disused toll booth, illuminating the husk of smashed glass and debris.
Cochise leaned back and finished his beer, with cool relaxation. He turned to Snow.
“Hey Snowball, you hear the radio?”
He threw the empty bottle at the flaming trash can, missing by a few inches and knocking out one of the few remaining shards of glass from the booth.
“No.” He replied, lifting his head up.
“The Punks are flexing again.”
“Those chumps? Who let them make a move?” he drawled. He got up and grabbed an empty bottle from the floor, turning it in his hands.
“Moonrunners.” announced Cochise, he looked up at the sky. “You remember the night?” he cracked a wide smile, “We wasted those Punks in that bathroom.”
“Wrecked their sorry asses.” Snow stood up and raised his arm. Glass on metal made a resounding crash as the bottle hit the burning garbage. For a moment the flames erupted chaotically. He gave a knowing look to Cochise.
“Hey, whatever man.” He muttered. Snow sat down.
“Moonrunners? I'm surprised.”
“Ah fuck 'em. They're just taggers. Those dudes ain't got no muscle.”
“Sure.”
“Y'know, talking of writers, where you think Rembrandt's at?”
“Rembrandt?” Cowboy uttered, a vague idea of where he was in the shadows they were under.
“Yeah?”
“I think we're gonna have to run.” he said his eyes flitting ahead of him, ears pricked, gauging the scene.
“But my piece -”
Cowboy interrupted him in a hushed dismissal. They couldn't worry about that now. “Forget it, they'll get the message.” Rembrandt screwed up his face in incomprehension.
“It's not finished. I can't just leave that, don't you get it, man?”
“Well you shoulda brought more paint, hell, looks like we shoulda been packed too. I've got a real bad feeling.”
A few seconds passed, with heart bursting anticipation, voices carried across the air awakening the cool night once more. Figures emerged...
Rembrandt whispered, “Look there they are... wait. What's going on?”
“We better move.”
Inside the hangout Swan and Vermin were playing pool. Vermin paced around the corner of the table as Swan lined up a shot
“So what's happening with you and Mercy, again, Warlord?”
Swan potted the red with a sharp flex of his arms. He looked up at Vermin.
“I told her to hole up somewhere for a while. For her safety.”
Vermin picked up his cue from the wall, displaying, out of habit a grasp as if over an improvised weapon. He laughed.
“Whaddya mean? You tryna get rid of her or something?” he said with a cheeky grin, “What danger is there? You said it, yourself, man – we're “the best”” He potted a yellow with a cocky swing and grinned, wider yet, to Swan.
“Yeah, and people are always tryna rumble with the best. I don't want her getting wasted by some gang tryna make a move on our rep.”
Vermin's tone dropped.“Shit, I never thought of it that way.”
“Maybe you should put on the radio, Vermin. We need to keep our wits about us.”
“Sure.”
He twisted the dial and through the static the DJ spoke in warm tones.
“...talking of Moving Too Slow, boppers, it seems another gang has bitten the dust on account of The Punks. The Panzers got knocked out, so watch out all you contenders out there.” She lowered to whisper as if she was talking directly to them, “And for you heavyweights, The Warriors, better watch out for your title, word is we could have a real royal rumble on our hands. Rematch, babies. Adios.”
------------
again tell me anything you'd like to see, ill bear it in mind even if i cant fit it in this story and feedback wud be great as i intend to rewrite it once i have a whole story =]
the working title is
"The Warriors: Heavyweights"
“Shit.”
Rembrandt shook the shell of his spray paint, with a desperate rattle.
“Hurry up, man.” Cowboy looked behind him, restlessly.
He squeezed the cap until it pushed into his fingertip more than the can. A few drops, Warrior red, spurted out, falling short of the wall. That was it. His burner looked back at him, incomplete.
“Oh, no.” He threw the can to the ground in frustration.
“That's all you brought? We were supposed to bomb this place! Aww, crap.”
In a flash, Rembrandt and Cowboy leaped to the wall - the shadows. Instinct. The sound of breaking glass had broken the still air.
“We oughtta go, man.” said Rembrandt. He was edgy. Behind enemy lines anything could happen - he knew that. Cowboy narrowed his eyes.
“One minute, Rembrandt.”
Crouching, he moved to the edge of the wall. He looked into the street light to see what was about to go down.
In Coney, Snow and Cochise sat in the neon twilight, on top of the hangout. The Wonder Wheel rotated with a mechanical grace and the night was quiet. The waves gently broke on the boardwalk. About twenty feet from the hangout a trash can burned beside a disused toll booth, illuminating the husk of smashed glass and debris.
Cochise leaned back and finished his beer, with cool relaxation. He turned to Snow.
“Hey Snowball, you hear the radio?”
He threw the empty bottle at the flaming trash can, missing by a few inches and knocking out one of the few remaining shards of glass from the booth.
“No.” He replied, lifting his head up.
“The Punks are flexing again.”
“Those chumps? Who let them make a move?” he drawled. He got up and grabbed an empty bottle from the floor, turning it in his hands.
“Moonrunners.” announced Cochise, he looked up at the sky. “You remember the night?” he cracked a wide smile, “We wasted those Punks in that bathroom.”
“Wrecked their sorry asses.” Snow stood up and raised his arm. Glass on metal made a resounding crash as the bottle hit the burning garbage. For a moment the flames erupted chaotically. He gave a knowing look to Cochise.
“Hey, whatever man.” He muttered. Snow sat down.
“Moonrunners? I'm surprised.”
“Ah fuck 'em. They're just taggers. Those dudes ain't got no muscle.”
“Sure.”
“Y'know, talking of writers, where you think Rembrandt's at?”
“Rembrandt?” Cowboy uttered, a vague idea of where he was in the shadows they were under.
“Yeah?”
“I think we're gonna have to run.” he said his eyes flitting ahead of him, ears pricked, gauging the scene.
“But my piece -”
Cowboy interrupted him in a hushed dismissal. They couldn't worry about that now. “Forget it, they'll get the message.” Rembrandt screwed up his face in incomprehension.
“It's not finished. I can't just leave that, don't you get it, man?”
“Well you shoulda brought more paint, hell, looks like we shoulda been packed too. I've got a real bad feeling.”
A few seconds passed, with heart bursting anticipation, voices carried across the air awakening the cool night once more. Figures emerged...
Rembrandt whispered, “Look there they are... wait. What's going on?”
“We better move.”
Inside the hangout Swan and Vermin were playing pool. Vermin paced around the corner of the table as Swan lined up a shot
“So what's happening with you and Mercy, again, Warlord?”
Swan potted the red with a sharp flex of his arms. He looked up at Vermin.
“I told her to hole up somewhere for a while. For her safety.”
Vermin picked up his cue from the wall, displaying, out of habit a grasp as if over an improvised weapon. He laughed.
“Whaddya mean? You tryna get rid of her or something?” he said with a cheeky grin, “What danger is there? You said it, yourself, man – we're “the best”” He potted a yellow with a cocky swing and grinned, wider yet, to Swan.
“Yeah, and people are always tryna rumble with the best. I don't want her getting wasted by some gang tryna make a move on our rep.”
Vermin's tone dropped.“Shit, I never thought of it that way.”
“Maybe you should put on the radio, Vermin. We need to keep our wits about us.”
“Sure.”
He twisted the dial and through the static the DJ spoke in warm tones.
“...talking of Moving Too Slow, boppers, it seems another gang has bitten the dust on account of The Punks. The Panzers got knocked out, so watch out all you contenders out there.” She lowered to whisper as if she was talking directly to them, “And for you heavyweights, The Warriors, better watch out for your title, word is we could have a real royal rumble on our hands. Rematch, babies. Adios.”
------------
again tell me anything you'd like to see, ill bear it in mind even if i cant fit it in this story and feedback wud be great as i intend to rewrite it once i have a whole story =]
