A finer night than most. From cold discs of green, his vision flies; a witness to the death-of-day. Unseperated sheets of cloud, colored that bruise-blue, reside before waning evening. The felled-fireball clutches the cotton, a fine talon of complex orange, three sharp fingers of flame, sinks into the matte staves of cloud. Never a man to forget the simpler things, He: Gamble, this man of unfastened sanity, stops to admire the sun-set. He's flanked by several men of similar dress: overcoats of black, tinted glasses of likened seclusion—-not the type for chipper strolls; he nor they.

The man's grin speaks to the deeds that wait to be. Pocketed hands draw his coat back as rangy legs awkwardly chew up pavement; steps high, steps far.

The natty, ivory, pistolgrip shimmers as his steps jostle the holstered relic strapped to hip. The men that follow scantly verbalize; no observation worth killing the focus, worth killing the drive. They smoke; heads pidgeoning, blockaded eyes squinting—-they who know too little.

Gamble stops before the foreclose-fashion barber shop. Bars of green track his flickering eyes: orders, they were, to his troops: you here, you there. The men jog to either side of the door, their hands heavy with compact rifles; small-caliber-hole-punchers; choicey speed-of-spit winning over mightier modes of impact, not to mention the ease of consealment and tote.

The man's eyes scan themselves in the glassdoor's refract. "The girl," pupils stop off at. every. single. man. "She's off-limits. You knick her, I knick you."

Gamble steps back and fits a thin cigar into his lips, thumb mocking the flint, face and mouth-along morbidly lined. Eyes halved in a tired squint soon reflect the lighter's flame.

"Do it."

The barber shop did no justice against the chilly night"old and decrepit as it was. The wooden floors had no pity on bare feet"impressionable for temperature as they were. Just as the floors worked against them, the ceiling did, too. Sights, scents, sound"none of them when talking about their home could be explained as anything but repulsive. For the decorations were obsolete, the walls were chipped, the floors were creaky, and the place smelled musty. The architecture however, played some role in helping the two strays in the night, carrying his whisper to ears that were waiting, but not entirely willing.

Lilly, beneath several blankets and still curled up like some cold, sleepy puppy, heard his words and released something of an audible groan as she shuffled in the blankets. Lilly resented Clyde. Resented him for taking her from her dream prematurely, resented him for the cold spot that she had just put her feet in when she shuffled, but most of all, she resented him for not being in the blankets with her; spooning her with his warmth. "Ngh, what?" Not at all bothering to whisper, nor catching on to the situation. "Clyde I'm trying to fck"n sleep" and I'm cold?? How full of complaints was the girl who popped her head from the blankets.

Oh how she wanted to fling herself from that bed, take the butt of her gun, and whack him with it for speaking to her in such a manner. She didn't, she remained calm until his second set of speech sent her into a spiraling panic. Greedy breath sucked into healthy lungs carefully as Lilly, now silent as ever, removed her form from the layers of bedspread. Feet, reluctant as ever touched the hard foundation below her, toes wiggled at the chills it sent up her spine. She wore a flannel two-piece pajama set, which covered about every inch of her body, save for toes, her head, and just a touch of neck. How racy! Blonde mane all a mess, coming from the bun in soft curls; Lilly peered over at Clyde, her nose wrinkling in disapproval. "I swear," she whispered. "There'd better be someone out there, or I'm going to shoot you myself?" Hand making an idle gesture for the nightstand, fingers tapping around until she found her glasses....The girl unfolded them and placed them over her button nose, and beady chocolates. Waggling toes made their way across the floor, as her lithe limb of the right; upper side reached itself toward the cabinet. Slowly, she pulled it open. "There's a gun in here?" Not just any gun, a double-barrel shotgun.

Every hair on his arm flings to attention as the sights-and-sounds-alike confirm suspicion. From his breath comes caustic strains of cussing; front-teeth snip at bottom lip as he speaks—-several 'F' heavy words. Clyde flips his eyes over to Lilly as he jumps to his feet and snatches his pistol off the table. "There's a few of them out there, I thi—-"

Attentions turned-over, stomach-along, as Gamble's voice sifts through the room outside. He couldn't help but let his jaw slip ajar and seek to pair his eyes with Lil's.

The boy's eyes sink as preperations continue; the pressure is exhuberant, hands fumbling to load the few cartriges singled on the table, into the magazine. Flesh can mend—-Pride a precious metal not easily unfurled and repaired. Clyde slams his shoulder against the closed door and snaps back the pistol's slide, feeding the chamber.

"F'ck you Gamble! Goddamn bitch, nice to see you leave your backbone at home!" Teeth tear across opposite rows as he nods to Lil; an esoteric gesture. Moments later he figures this out, so he whispers;

"There's shells in a box somewhere in there, load it up."

Ear pressed to the door, senses pilfering the sooty steps and whispered dangers, Clyde's mind began to unpackage the steps required to get them out of the room—-if not him, Clyde would do what was needed to get Lil streetside. The ruffian nods and reaches for the shotgun before his body jolts in surprise as one of the men outdoors had sent a stern shoulder into it, effectively rocking the hinges.

What's next is instinct alone—-a lesson here for the girl, nothing in the world worth learning, but here, on the day it would save their lives, Clyde would impart the sadistic modes of the killer onto Lilly's fairskinned head.

Rising quickly and rejecting the offered scattergun, Clyde slams the nose of his pistol into an area of the door that would indicate eye-level. When Gamble's assailant led his body into the door for the second time, his head would meet the door's hard reprise and the thread-of-lead that had torn through the barrier and his skull-alike— the boy had fired the moment he rammed.

Outdoors he hears not a moan, not uncommon for a wound to the head, but it unsettled him for only a moment. The bullet had left the man a frumpled mess of skin and limb as he collapses to the tile, jaw unhitched, all remaining vitality flowing from the holes in his very-dead head.

Clyde tears his arm from the door and shoves Lilly to the floor—-why' Because the next minute he'd be joining her, diving for the boards, he covers the girl with his body as the three men left fire through the door, making splinters of it. Two seconds of bullet-hosing can feel a lifetime, and after what felt like ninety bullets had peeled the wooded-barrier apart, Clyde manipulates the shotgun Lilly still carries; he steadies it by the barrel, gestured towards the doorway, while the girl clasps the stock and trigger.

He doesn't give her advice, he gifts not-a-word—-nothing but hard breaths can implore the girl to do what was needed the minute one of the men would jump through the door.

Feet shuffle outside the door, shoulders knead into the room's exterior, as now all that separates the ghouls from Lilly and Clyde is a ripe, smoldering pile of chipped wood that stems and piles in the doorway.

'...'ck this man, I'm not waiting out here to get shot the f'ck up.' A voice from the barbershop's common room, only feet away from the pair huddled on the floorboards. Clyde inches the barrel around, putting the mark on a dime; though a weapon never lauded for its accuracy, aiming small a good idea in any case or application.

The three men argue outside the door, the youngest of the bunch, the initial speaker, begins to kick away the splinters, his foot reaching through the tattered doorway before the rest of him.

Clyde's brows spring in the haste of danger. The assailant swings his rifle around the room, unable to locate the pair at first. His body is turned as a shaded-glare finds them, and twin-barrels staring him down.

Clyde was no telepath...but, one didn't have to hypothesize that his mind was screaming, 'F'CKING SHOOT, LILLY.'

Is there beauty in shredded flesh' Poetry and form, from sadists' lips, sure, but despite the ill-deeds that had filled the chapters of Clyde's life to this point, he never found anything especially rewarding from the life leaking from a man's eyes. The shrapnel ejected from the weapon dent and tear the skin from his body; salt-to-ice; an awful verse of agony begs the air as the man's arms flail while he crumples to the ground. No, he's not quite dead as much as he is dying, and this a worse-case-scenerio for his Lilly—-the last thing he needed was for her soft-sentiments to wreck her, to allow the scene of her deeds to pull her from reality. Clyde softy cups her cheek;

"It's okay, it's okay. Good job, now get up." His words are hurried, maybe to overfeed her mind, flush out the image of the groaning man rolling on the floor. Jumping to his feet, Clyde slowly offers his arm to the girl.

His eyes give what they can, gently split and watered slightly, a sadness of his own the expense of puting the girl through that.

It's okay, baby. It's okay... he's read.

The first time....

It wasn't the same; it deadened him the moment the trigger had been pulled. Clyde's first kill hadn't come from necessity, in the way Lilly's had—-his first was an execution, the final leg of a plan that had formed in the black-heart regions of Gamble's filthy mind. He had goaded Clyde into his scheme, had promised him light work and a high pay-off, none-of-which came to be, nothing but the robbery of the boy's youth. A typical rich damsel for ransom affair that went awry quickly. The final moments are left in the prefix of Clyde and Gamble's rivalry, a moment that the boy had yet to speak of, but had naught neglected to recollect a day since.

Now the worst-of-times, but the memory spurns him as he's keeping Lilly upright. He hushes her before several snappy kisses that end on lip.

"There was no choice," a hard glare attempts to make truth of the words. Clyde's hands mend the girls waist, gifting touch, he tries to physically remove the pain, a starry remedy, but everything of him would be required to get the girl moving. In the shop's interior, the two men argue, their words dissipate as they move away from the broken doorway.

'Call him, call him! I don't know what to do here,' a deep, though thoroughly distraught, voice hurriedly instructs. Time had been bought, and a more precious thing in the world there was not.

Clyde sprints to the old cabinet and, with a force that strains the muscles aching behind flesh, yanks the hefty object to the ground. A dust cloud leaves the wooded edges as it hits, it splinters and cracks. The boy jumps on it, and his plan is revealed—-an air-vent! Oh, how classic! Using the cabinet as a stool, he tries to yank the grate free. It doesn't budge, so on to plan two. He brings hands-to-ears, miming the instructions, 'cover your ears' it means, as he aims his pistol at the vent and fires it off.

"Come on, I'll lift you up, it'll bring you out to the alley."

Surprised? You betcha'. In some ways, he figured the girl's shock would prove advantageous, would make her malleable to his orders—-so he was wrong, nothing new. What a scene: two men with submachine guns waiting at the front entrance, a six-gun toting lunatic stalking about unseen, and Clyde and Lilly having a couple's-quarrel in the midst of it all. Clyde halves with a sigh, his pistol thrapping against knee as his head shakes.

"Lilly, come the hell on!" The volume rose with each word, "We don't have time! Our luck has run out; we got lucky to take out two of them, but the two out there now won't just rush in here...they'll wait us out until Gamble sends his whole focking army down here! Go! I'll be right behind you, I've planned this out," he hadn't, maybe a disconnect of eye-contact the tell.

"Please," he begs.

"Please. I love you, Lilly Murdock." The boy's limbs limply sway; he's lost, he's, for perhaps the first time, -scared- and feeling the pressure of lost minutes. Clyde's face is apart in the plea.

"Please..."

Several smiles and snotty faces later (all left in retrospect to her dovey-comments and jests-alike), Clyde boosts her into vent. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't lying, he had every intention on squirming right in after her. He hops up to clutch the vent in an attempt to pull himself up—so why did he let go' Falling back onto the over-turned cabinet, Clyde's head wheels about the room. "Where the f'ck's my jacket?" Since he was still in nothing but denim and Converse at the moment...he just didn't feel the same outside leather, didn't most men"

He scours the wreckage of the room and grunts as he has to yank it from under the splinter-pile of the once-was-door. He cusses and shakes it free of soot.

Not a smart move that he was standing in the doorway while doing all this? The silence of the serpents laying in wait had deafened him to the situation momentarily—but not for long as a burst of gunfire rips a few more holes into the room. The thin walls wouldn't protect him any-longer, his only plan was to dart out of the room—-leaving his Lilly in the vent—-alone, once more. The boy slides behind the counter that had once housed a register, it's thick and absorbs the suppression of his attacker's fire. When the shots cease, Clyde can only shout:

"Go! Go, now!"

The sun had gone. In the minutes wasted abroad, skipping the commotion, Gamble had trotted the block, had smoked, had even contemplated a quick meal. But his mind, ever the mindful wheel, couldn't be kept from the matter-at-hand. After shots had been exchanged, the man made a phone call while he merrily scooted back to the shop's entrance; it's who you know, they say—-no need for sirens just yet.

From the shop's-opposite, he'd wait; snug in the blackened throat of a crosstown alleyway, a smile finds his lips as more gunfire rips the shop apart.

Ever the fan of drastic redecoration.

And when his little bug found her own way into the web, emerald gazers couldn't be thin enough, face couldn't wrinkle enough; he just couldn't find it funny enough!

Lil's embrace of the shop's door is met with the readied click! of a relic hammer; a pearlgripped peacetaker whose barrel was fastened into the small of our girl's back.

"Nice gun, Miss Murdock," snidely disposed (as if there existed a variation). "Pull the trigger! I'd like to see you handle a gun, first-hand. Is it strange it speaks to a sexual part of me?" Gamble's tongue clucks as his head falls back in laughter.

He leans over the girl's shoulder, peaking into the shop, all-the-while burying his revolver's nose deeper into Lilly's flesh.

"What a show. Let's watch?"

"Well..."

Lilly's reckless badassery had succeeded in pocking the left-fold of the man's coat with a half-dozen buck-holes; Gamble's quick-twitch had saved him from the killzone of the scattergun. A shock becomes him, lips part from a mouth-askew, too far to dare a bit of a nervous-way about the man's face right then" Not too-often was he on the business-end of surprise, nor a two-eyed 12 gauge. His pistol-hand is limp and swaying at his side as the man examines his holy overcoat; left hand pulls at the fabric, unveiling the lovely punched-out sections.

He sighs while rolling eyes into the back of his head.

"Lil, now—-", head shaken, "This is an expensive coat. I know you have no damn money...awwh, goddamnit...look at it....tch, the hell?"

Funny, perhaps; that despite the hit he'd contracted on Clyde's head, despite the attempted kidnap, and everything in between, he could manage to be serious about reimbursement. He really wanted a new coat. He flips either hand out as he shrugs, prying his brows upward through inquiry, awaiting her answer.

Shuffling back upon heels that exaggerate the shove, arms whirling circles to fatten the point, Gamble grins a feisty play to the girl.

"Playing rough now" A shame," he sighs to his feet, shaking his head. Emblazoned greens illuminate the darkness as they walk from her knees, belly and chest, to seep into chocolate havens.

"I had you pegged as a lady all this time. A couple weeks with our Clyde, and now you spit and shove and cuss. Despicable, My Lillith, despicable indeed. Has he," the man draws out the last word spoken as he slithers her way, drenching each step an apathetic insanity, heels scraping the concrete as he shuffles towards her, dangling his pistol hand. "Loosened you in other ways, I wonder?" Gamble's tongue enshrouds the teeth that populate the bottom row of his grin, and as he's only inches away now, his head intrudes-further, taking more of her space as his-own, brows elated, still asking the awful question.

A flurry of blinks accompany the girls attempted shot and posted dismissal. He gawks at the weapon in her hand, then at his own, offering it up and jostling it in his palm.

"Six will always beat two, dove. Nice try though! Got me off guard, that face of yours will be the death-o-me, I swear now just as I've sworn it before," he nods, grinning to either-ear. "Now," gesturing towards the shop's front door, "Get in there," his stance is crisp, arm enlonged with his pistol netted between chocolate gazers.

"Let's see how our Clyde is doing in there, it's been a few minutes since I've heard a shot, perhaps he's finally f'cking dead!" His words sound of relief as he once more rattles the gun, indicating the door.

"Shut the hell up, Lil," growing short, these curt words spat upon another shove of the girl, the pistol's nose prodding her to enter the shop.

"I'm going to do anything, anyway, and I'm going to kill him; so save your breath, please." The smile returns there, following her indoors.

The scene inside is one of scattered gore; two dead, left to stew in baths of their own juices; the third wounded, hunched behind an old barber's-stool, and the lone fourth, fighting to reload his rifle when sunglassed-eyes find Lillith and Gamble as they enter the shop.

'G-...Gamble, I'm sorry....', the wounded bloke hunched against the stool apologizes, before groaning to his feet; blood floods the torn flesh in his shirt, dripping from the hand that craddles it, to the tile below.

Gamble flicks his wrist at the man, draws back the hammer of his six-gun, and snaps a shot that punctures just-below the chin. The exiting lead shatters a mirror that was fixed behind the man, a mirror now sprayed in an elixer of his own brand. He clutches his throat before knees wobble and finally break under the weight of pain and death, that which soon consumes him.

"No problem!" Gamble grins, arm going limp, languidly swaying now. The one-remaining member of his party is unmoved, but indoors, the nerves are popping apart as he now wonders which man poses him the greatest threat. Gamble recoils his head, beckoning him to join he and Lil—-he obeys.

"Keep an eye on her," he orders. The man keeps his rifle trained on Lil as Gamble takes a tally of the carnage, eye litter on the bodies as a smile presumes the victor.

"Oh, my Clyde. What a devil you are. Come out and say hello, 'eh' I promise not to shoot you like five times."

He laughs.

It surprised Lilly, made her wince and nearly wet herself. Dark chocolate eyes lowered with guilt as Clyde called out for him. She thought about answering, but didn't so much enjoy the thought of being a fatal distraction to the man. Orbs scan over her captor, and she glares in the best ways possible for the girl. Then softens her expression and sighs, she had to think of a plan and fast. But what? What possible miracle could she pull off now" "Can I see your gun real quick?" Lilly whispered to the man. Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it"

As the rifle lifted for a strike, Lilly flinched, eyes squeezing shut. When pain didn't overwhelm her senses, her eyes opened. She stared him down in confusion, tilting her head. Why didn't he hit me.." He wanted to, obviously' So why hesitate" Eyes widened in some revelation. Was that what Gamble meant when the men infiltrated? Before she could finish that thought, Gamble had put her on the spot. It made her wince visibly, eyes trained on the floor as she clenched her jaw. If she answered, Clyde would come out' It didn't matter what she said, her voice would draw him out. It was a fact. With her eyes still on the floor, Lilly made a quick grab for the man's rifle.

Clyde's ears, ringing from the blasts and audacious-anxieties-alike, are only fed scant lines, as he keeps himself well-tucked behind the counter. Something was indeed transpiring on the tile; several pairs of feet scuffle, experience telling him a dainty pair joins them—-feminin, even. A sweat-enthused palm chokes-up on the ribbed-grip of his .45; what chances to take here; what the wager to-be? Offer-up his neck for a peek and risk it's removal, or sit pretty like a coward and wait for it all to end.

Yellows sneak from the counter's corner just in-time to witness Gamble's attack.

The leathered ruffian climbs to his feet and snaps his arm forward, drawn across the left that's steadying his pistol-hand, a nice fleshy-plain, the boy's brows net dangerously.

"Turn around, Gamble!"

The man's speed is showcased, tearing his arm away from the girl the minute the butt had knocked her to the floor, and flipping the pistol up-right—-his foresights challanging Clydes.

A good ol' stand-off—-the man lived for little else, his grin donating to this point

Gamble's head slips to the left to whisper an order to his guard. Seconds later, the black-coated man is on a knee, collecting his sunglasses, and Lillith there-after. He grunts as if she's heavy, posturing her over his shoulder.

Greens intimidate from slashed lids as his feet peddle to the right, opting a circle from his opponent.

"Little Clyde!" he flings quickly, flavored-country; a strange accent to suddenly acquire, but he was a strange man.

"What's going to happen now, he wonders?" Teeth sheer bottom lip as fingers spryly waggle around his revolver—-waiting.

Hanging over the man's shoulder, hands reaching in an attempt to touch the floor with limp, curled fingers. Hind-sight would make her thankful that Gamble knocked her out, didn't make her watch this? Glasses, which had already been jostled on her face, slid from her features and clinked against the floor. Eyes rolled in sockets, as her body relaxed over the stranger's shoulder, useless and limp.