PSL: Night is falling like a bloody axe

[stillcounts]

It was true that Julius Selwyn had gone to a party that night, as would be gossiped about liberally the next day. He'd gotten a bit drunk and flirted with Amanda Welch, who encouraged it, and Susan Martin, who permitted it, and - a few people claimed - Ben Hightower, who had not appreciated it in the slightest.

It was also true that he was not drunk at all now, so-late-it-was-early, and that he was wandering a mostly deserted street in St. John's Wood in a distinctly more utilitarian getup than he'd been wearing earlier in the evening. He had a loose-fitting leather jacket over what the very sharp-eyed might identify as a holster housing an antique pistol, giving him the air of a boy who was unsure whether he was playing a Hell's Angel or a pirate. The image was further confused by the large, antique book under his arm.

There was plenty of moonlight. That not entirely incidental.

Comments

[gotbottle]

She heard the sound, processed it to recognition a fleeting moment before the creature hit the barrier. Her arm flew up immediately but it took all her willpower not to fire off the shot right away.

Like she'd told him: all her experience with flintlock pistols came from seeing them in the movies. She was no expert. But she seemed to remember that they were a one-shot kind of deal.

As much as she wanted to fire, she retained just enough presence of mind to realize maybe this wasn't the right moment.

"Out of curiosity..." She'd raised her arm, her jacket had bumped against her hip, the weight of the stun gun reminding her she'd carried it tonight just in case.

"Not that I intend to get close enough but if it came to it, what are my chances with a stun gun?"