THIRTY ✖ SPAM

[wedonot]

[Spam for Erik]

[Charles had been on his way back from the soup kitchen to his apartment late. Really late. He'd almost taken Mrs. Turner up on her offer of just spending the night in the spare bedroom at her apartment, but ultimately decided he'd rather just be in his own room tonight.

So he'd headed off, sticking mostly to the well lit streets and trying to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, and it seemed like he was more or less home free when he heard what was unmistakeably a fight, probably in one of the alleys near by, maybe twenty or so paces ahead.

He knew he should probably stay back, that this was a really good way to get himself killed and it wasn't like he had a weapon on him or anything, but he couldn't. He'd never been great at looking the other way when someone was in trouble, so instead of just walking past, taking another route, putting his head down and pretending he hadn't heard anything, he quickly ran towards the sound of the fight and stopped for a moment in the mouth of the alley, really not sure what he was planning on doing, exactly, but needing to do something, and he quickly ran in.]

Hey! [It was dark, and he could make out maybe two or three figures, probably two, and another pushed up against the wall and half slumped on the ground.] What the hell are you doing?

Comments

[eachpassingday]

[ Erik wasn't the sort to yell. He didn't scream for help, he didn't cry. He cursed and grunted and spat blood, and when there was a pause - had someone been yelling? - he took a deep breath and threw himself into the nearest thug's legs, knocking him to the ground. He got in a solid punch before there were hands around his throat, dragging him off and squeezing, and Erik kicked, flailed his arms, and choked. ]

Keep walking, [ called the thug who was picking himself up off the ground. Someone had been yelling, and Erik's eyes rolled toward the mouth of the alley. This was familiar. ]