New Beginnings (Plot Thread)

She had come here because she was promised violence. Violence not of the physical body, but of the mind. Violence of the spirit. Violence of ideology. Beautiful, glorious, wonderful violence.

She sniffed and spat against the cobblestoned plaza once she arrived, wiping out the remains of her saliva with the leather heel of her boot. Oh, yeah, there was violence here, alright. Yeah, right. These turkey fuckers wouldn't know violence if it jumped up and slapped 'em on the tits.

Oh, right. The flies were speaking. God, they were a pain. Every one of 'em was convinced - fucking convinced, mind you - that there were in the right in this argument, and everybody else could go to Hell.

Right. There had to be some instigator for this bullshit.

She scanned the area and settled on the blonde little bitch on the steps.

There he was. The lord of the the flies himself.

For fuck's sake. He looked like he had just been weened off of his mama's milk. What kind of shower of braindead, narrow-minded, pear-shaped assclowns would listen to somebody like that? He looked like a yellow parrot with a human face stapled to its skull. And boy, could he yap.

And then the other moron went and piped up. Yes, of course, there couldn't be a meeting around here without some jacked-up city-slicker sticking his big fuck-off toe where it didn't belong. That was always the way around here, it seemed. Shout loud enough and maybe your opinion will start to matter. What she wouldn't give to jam a grenade in his kisser and yank at the pin.

He'd probably like that, though. Sick fucker. Who's to say what people like that get up to in their spare time?

She sighed, shuffled sideways and silently jammed a Bourbon vanilla lollipop into her mouth.

Something was about to give.