Author: ZeWaz PM
Ira always seems to be saving people without setting out to. With a long history of disappointing her parents, she has finally made a turnaround; That is, until a band of female thugs note her talent, and Ira is suddenly catapulted into a world where she struggles to meet the expectations of both good, evil, and something... or someone... in between. T language, etc. Alex/OCRated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Drama - Alex - Chapters: 4 - Words: 7,073 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 03-24-13 - Published: 11-13-12 - id: 8701164
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Hallo, this is my first story on this website and… uh, I apologize in advance if it sucks, but I had a bit of fun writing this chapter… Clockwork Orange doesn't belong to me… yeah.
She caught a flash of the last retreating leather-clad bugger. Webs of blood dripping down her body, not entirely her own blood, had stained her clothes. Tired green eyes lazily shifted towards the would-be victim, who was currently in a sobbing heap on the muddy, wet tiles of the street. She sighed.
"Calm yourself, now." She soothed, hastily rubbing fluids from her palms before extending a hand to rub the other girl's shoulder. Though she had meant to be gentle, nothing about her manner even faintly resembled the word. Her tone cracked and retreated quickly into a low growl with her phrasing, and her touch was papery and rough save a few wet spots that she had failed to remove. The girl, nonetheless, seemed to appreciate the gesture and calmed as she was told.
Ira muttered inaudibly to her self as the girl sniffled. These boys, these 'malchicks' were becoming really, really too much to handle. Her parents already detested her own late-night crusades as it was, and though she admittedly never actually came out with the notion to 'rescue' people, it seemed to be the only thing she was doing lately. Hell, if she wasn't being occupied or suckered into rescuing other wretches, she was busy rescuing herself. She winced at last Saturday's near-death experience, idly rubbing a thumb over her switchblade both in thanksgiving for the save and in an instinctual act of security.
"M-M-mm…Miss…" the poor thing croaked, "Th-thank… Thanks…" Her eyes were swollen and red with tears as she wailed yet again. So broken up, Ira mused privately, you would have thought that she had arrived too late, or something- Ira rolled her head back and gave a highly agitated-sounding sigh.
"Well, get on home then. It's unlikely you'll be visited by a second angel of mercy if you're caught again, so please," She creased an eyebrow to communicate the sincerity of her message to the young woman, "if you may, RUN, don't walk."
The girl didn't need her to say it twice. She was up in a split second and took to the now better-lit streets like a shot, hair flying and heels clicking. Ira spun on her heel and grudgingly decided to return home after a now ruined evening.
To match all the others I've been having. She thought bitterly.
She wasn't entirely sure why she even bothered stopping these people anymore. She was a scarecrow in a swarm of evil, greedy little bastards who were more numerous in their flocks in recent times but no less evolved. A smile tugged at the last few words; Tim and Shelley would have been chuckling along with her if they didn't have the luxury of living in their own establishment. Alas, Ira was only an employee. Though the two of them always treated her like family, and even invited her to stay the night, Ira had parents to return to.
She would most likely be reprimanded the moment she walked in through the door, of course. Life had been strange to her; One moment she's a pacifist, and the next she suddenly cares to save strangers with a damn blade she swiped- no, ACCEPTED, from a classmate only a week ago. A present in return for loyalty.
Well shit, she hadn't gotten back to her on that, had she? Ira rubbed her elbows from the cold as she struggled to recollect her last meeting with Ludmilla. That wasn't her real name, everyone knew that, but she nor anyone else ever seemed to catch her real one. A solid fact about Ludmilla was that she and her band of vicious ladies liked to go on romps round the more questionable parts of town (which unfortunately was everywhere, as far as Ira was concerned) committing petty crimes and experimenting with all the latest laced drinks. She had even invited Ira to accompany her and her 'droogs' to that odd-ball hangout at the Korova Milkbar, but she had politely refused. Before she was under Tim's employment, she had taken the advice from a particularly shady source to try for some employment there; no sooner had she walked in did she turn around and walk right back out. Between the bizarre décor and seedy looking, almost rabid creatures that lurked and lounged within like wild beasts on coffee break, she figured it might not be the safest place to work.
She sighed for the umpteenth time that night. How did she find herself like this? She had finally managed to be a 'good' girl. No, she hadn't been running around doing God-knows-what like her more troubled classmates, but she had been undeniably irresponsible. She had carelessly worried her parents on more than one occasion, she cried over the silliest things and turned a blind eye when those silly things concerned others, and of course she hadn't made the greatest effort in school, which would be enough to make the average parent unhappy. She had finally started over in a new setting, became a different person, tried to be more responsible; now here she was accepting a knife, obtained by the gift-er by unknown means to the gift-ee. A gift-er who was in, no, ran a band of female ruffians. Ludmilla had seen her fight before, she gathered, or maybe she just saw that… kind… brand of violent, violent thing in her. She admitted to playing strong and silent, but God help her if she actually laid a finger on anyone outside of defensive means. She was so incredibly frustrated.
A bong of a distant clock drew her back to her current irresponsibility, albeit brought on by a form of responsibility (had the girl made it home?) but that did little to comfort her. Her explanation would fall on deaf ears. Hopefully, she would at least be able to get it over with the minute she stepped over the threshold instead of a lengthy morning confrontation.
The only sound Ira heard as she huffed and braved the streets in her work clothes was the petite clicks of her heels, shoulders flopping back and forth and hair whipping all the way.
Mum will understand. Mum will understand. She lied to herself, Mum will-
A sharp cough and a groan broke her running streak as her attention snapped to a particularly sinister looking alley. A black moving form lay there unmoving, at least at a distance. She moved to continue. No sooner had she jogged a few steps, her conscience coaxed her (again) into checking up on whatever creature lay moaning for help in the alley. She muttered a streak of obscenities. To hell with her little 'hobby,' people had to save themselves every now and then, didn't they?
Her immediate apprehension dulled as she inched closer to the person lying on the puddle riddled ground. Telling by size, they were definitely male. A veined hand crept sluggishly towards her foot, revealing scratches and cuts and bruises on every inch as the rest of his body emerged from the darkness cast on him by nearby trash cans. She hovered over him uncertainly, scanning over his features. A messy dark brown head of hair fell face first into a puddle, startling her enough to make her take a step back. She could hear a low growl as she saw him lift his head and bring a hand clasping a hat (accented by a set of peculiar green goggles, she noted) to his face. He rubbed the fabric against his face in motion that may have been rough if he hadn't been so weakened.
He suddenly snapped his attention to Ira, causing her to flinch at a pair of wild eyes that glared upwards at her from underneath an unkempt mane. She lamely held up both hands to prove her innocent of violent thoughts. The man was indeed a boy, and under closer inspection, namely the observance of the manner in which he spit at the ground for enacting gravity, she recognized him as one of the troubled hooligans of the city. What was his name? She recognized his way of dress, but no name came to mind- no wait- Billy Bob? Bill?
"Billy… uhm… boy?" She thought aloud. The wounded animal grimaced for some unclear reason, perhaps her hesitation displeased him. Either way, she was over her initial confusion and thought to herself none too kindly that perhaps she should leave him here. Just run- no, calmly walk away- Leave him to…
"Let's get you to a hospital, then." She heard her self say. She should have known she couldn't leave him lying there, it was probably his own damn fault anyway, she should think of how many lives she could possibly be saving by leaving this filth to die. Even more so, she should think about her parents. Her Mum would be especially furious.
Nevertheless, she made a move to lift 'Billy Boy' by the arm, all scorning and opposed voices within her giving up the argument. He snarled and caused her to jump back, swatting at her when she reattempted to assist him.
"Sodding devotchka…" he growled, lowering his gaze. He tried to stand and failed miserably as he collapsed against the brick wall of the alley. Ira shrugged and turned to go home, quietly thankful that he was resistant. His groans grew dimmer as the distance between them increased until she heard a pause, and then a fairly loud and hoarse "WAIT."
She almost cried. So close.
"Not the hospital." He said softly. He nearly sounded like he was pleading, but then added more firmly, "My place."
She turned to him slothfully and cocked an eyebrow. "You're in no position to be dictating anything."
His eyes widened in sync with his mouth at her words. After a few short moments of disbelief, he growled "You-you fucking...!"
"It's truly awful to hear you drop that lovely teen speak of yours." She interrupted with a short burst of bravery. The feeling was akin to taunting a tiger who had its paw caught in a trap, "You turned down my assistance. I won't trouble you any further."
She nodded curtly and turned to leave. An amused grin broke in the darkness as she turned away, and a sinister set of blue glazzies shifted its attention to the unfortunate 'gentleman.'
She cringed at the sudden sound of kicks and moans, and quickened her pace. Her explanation for her mum was growing a sentence longer with each step she took.
Well, you made it. Or maybe you skipped to the end because it was so boring. Who knows, it might get better.
Er, I wasn't entirely sure if Billy Boy subscribed to Nadstat, but as you can see… I kind of made him speak Nadstat. I apologize if he doesn't, but from his rather limited dialogue in the movie and my less plentiful knowledge of the book it was something of a confusing decision.