Disclaimer: copyrightę 7/7/00 by WordWarior (email@example.com ). The following is an uber in 550 words.
A Woman With History
"I'm Just a Woman With History," said the short blonde, her educated, clipped tones making it sound as though every word had an initial cap.
The detective leaned back, surveying her with pale grey eyes that never blinked. He scratched the stubble on his jaw, the sound loud in the bare room. "Go on."
"There's Nothing More to Say."
"We know you aren't the ringleader.
"I'm Just a--"
Suddenly, both heads turned at the sounds of a muffled commotion.
"What the...?" mumbled the detective as he pushed away his chair with an echoing scrape. He went to the small window and tried to see what was causing the noise when his world went abruptly dark.
The blonde stood over his lean, crumpled body, his gun in her hand. She looked at the butt of the revolver and wiped it on his white shirt, leaving a bright red stain, speckled with steel grey hairs.
With expert fingers, she flipped off the safety and nestled the .45 in her hand, exulting in its metallic weight and the well-oiled scent of it. "In Here!" she shouted after unsuccessfully jiggling the locked handle. The small, square window was checkered with thin wires and it hadn't been cleaned in decades, or so it seemed.
She could only just make out the form of the tall, dark-haired woman slicing through the police like Jackie Chan through extras. Skilled in a variety of martial arts, the woman was heavily armed but hadn't even drawn a weapon. She was having too much fun with "the personal approach" as she always called it. Flesh on flesh, fists on chins, she watched men twice her size crumple under her powerful blows.
"Look Out!" the blonde shouted again, her voice shrill as she saw a groggy cop pull out his pistol, taking careful aim from the floor where he had fallen.
The blonde felt something rush past and for a moment was too startled to move. At the last possible second, the dark-haired woman had flipped into the air and struck the cop's hand just as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet had whizzed harmlessly down the hallway until it hit a battered, metal door. There, it crashed through the locking mechanism, missing the blonde woman on the other side by inches.
"Not Bad..." the now freed woman mumbled, swinging the door open.
Her dark-haired partner stood in the hallway, holding a limp police officer by his collar.
"Who... are you?" he managed to croak out, mesmerized by a pair of ice chips masquerading as eyes.
"M'name's History. You shouldn't have locked up my friend." Looking at the blonde, she asked, "Did you tell them anything?"
"Just that I'm a woman with History," she said, the clipped tones falling away as she smiled adoringly at her partner. "I'm not much of a storyteller, otherwise."
The taller woman nodded, a smirk touching her lips as she dropped the officer into a boneless heap and put her arm around the blonde. "C'mon. Let's get some ice cream." Casually, she took the .45 from her partner's hands and tossed it behind them. "Make love, not war, darlin'."
"I'd rather make History."
A low chuckle met the words as they carefully picked their way past moaning bodies and into the bright California summer.
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