#213, Sunset BLVD (Delilah's Place)

["Unfettered"]

Stubborn Reasoning, Patient Listening

"True. So I guess I'll just have to keep it here then won't I?"

...Slowly, but surely, pushing his shoulder more to keep him down, which effectively stopped "Unfettered's" already struggling upward momentum. He felt a depression in side of the bed beside him, as she in turn leaned closer to him... Their faces, almost touching. He expected a possible reaction like this. He really did. But even so, he was still startled, his eye widening, the way how he was quaking beneath her almost suggesting something more then just outright weakness of the physical type. Her voice was... like most women who knew how to, suggestive, crafty, observant, thoughtful...---For most men, they'd just simply call it scary.

And the smile on her lips made the German think that Miss Black was enjoying doing this to him more then a little. She certainly got him blushing, if faintly, but he slowly began to harden his face, glare back. He fought tooth and nail with himself to regain his composure from this... invasion of personal space.

---"Gaaarrrcccchhhkk..."

Being distracted, "Unfettered" had not expected her to choke him. He immediatly began to work his strong back muscles to push him up, but only to choke himself further, but the advantage of the width of his neck (either as naturally developed muscles or as a result of painful swelling) meant he could struggle a little bit further.---He could only rise up three inches, though, as Delilah slowly put the rest of her body onto the bed. Onto him. She must've realized the amount of pressure she was putting on his shoulder, because alongside choking with her full body weight (which, aside from the choking, wasn't that uncomfortable [...a guilty admission, as he thought back to Chocorem]), she now pushed back his typically strong back a bit as well.

She was good, though. Even as both of his hands went slowly behind himself to push himself up a little bit more, she changed up her choking technique, causing him to fall back completely, onto his arms. He winced, but his previous utilization of the "flicker jab," (mostly utilized back when "Thrush" could still take physical form), it was just stretching the joints into a place where they hadn't been to in a while. Now, not only did his entire body ache from the withdrawal effect of the drugs and the beating he took from Chocorem, the pressure point in his throat was being pressed down on.---He could still breathe.

Opening his mouth slowly, painfully, he tried to make a sound...

Nothing.

...He settled for slowly loosing his arms from underneath him, as he stared at Delilah with intensity. He could not fault her for trying to hold him back---It was common sense to rest and be complacent when heavily injured. But...

"Now listen you, I'm going to tell you a little story and you're going to listen to it. If you decide you still need to go after you hear it, fine, I won't stop you. All I ask is that you listen. So, are you going to lay quietly and listen, or do I have to beat you unconcious?"

For a moment, he paused in his subtle rustling movements.

His eye did not look away from her blue eyes. Their faces inches from each other. But he did struggle slightly to maintain his composure---After all, she had described him as a brotherly type. Was this what you called a sibling bickering or something?---Yes, her labeling of him as a sibling had struck him hard. Very hard. With a quick movement, he reach out his arms from beneath himself and hug her to him, therein possibly loosening the pressure in her hands and fingers on his shoulder and throat, but that would risk something dangerous. He could try to pull the "cool man" move, but considering she had a boyfriend (that he just happened to have beaten up), he wasn't looking at that high of a success rate.

He could tickle her---if she was ticklish.

---His arms shot out from underneath his back, going in a wide-range about to go for her sides, his bare fingers dancing in the air, as he'd attempt to see if she had a funny spot.---While his face was completely serious.

If that had the desired effect and she'd loosen her pressure on his throat, he'd try to quickly say, "...I'll listen, Mizz Black."

"But, I may still struggle, a little."

...If he was feeling a little bit better, he might have even thrown in a devilish grin.

Maybe.

...

Maybe not.

[Delilah A. Black]

As they stared at eachother for a while, Delilah had almost convinced that the poor man had passed out. No one could maintain a gaze with her, at least not for long. His eyes just looked to glassy for them not to be functioning. The lights are on but no one's home. Sweet dreams, Mr. Nazi. Pew-pew. She was about to nimbly slide off him when a blur of hands grabbed her around her back and pulled her down, against the man she was holding against his will. She blinked in surprise, cursing herself a little for not being able to see beyond his injuries. He was still dangerous. Her hands had slid away from his throat in an attempt to keep herself up. She licked her lips, drumming her fingers on the mattress behind his head while she struggled to find something witty to say. Ah. There we go. She opened her mouth to speak and out came a surprised laugh that caused her to try and curl in on herself.

Shoulda seen it coming.

Thrashing and squirming violently against the tickling, and in her one tickle spot too; the place she couldn't contract her muscles to protect herself. Anyone listening would have been subject to hearing "haHAAaHAHAhA, S-stOP IT! Ah..haha, I'll KILL you! Gssh! stOPSTOPstopSToPaaaaghhh!". Once he finished, she rolled off the to side, and sat with one hand to her chest, the remnants of a laughter bidden smile still on her face. "You bastard,"
"...I'll listen, Mizz Black."

O RLY? She raised a skepptical eyebrow. Would he? After all that? She didn't believe it...but if he said he was going too...

"But, I may still struggle, a little."

There we go. Deliah didn't exactly like it, but honestly, she expected nothing less. She inclined her head and folded her legs beneath her, slouching as she propped her elbow up on her knee and held her head up with her hand. She stared off into space for a moment before starting. Sit back and read children. This is gonna take a spell.


"Once upon a long ago in a distant neighbour hood not to far far away from Beverly Hills, there lived an excitable and violent child whom we shall refer to as V. When V was only eight years old, she was enrolled in ninjutsu, one of the most violent (and expensive) martial arts there is. Why was she enrolled at such asn early age you ask? Well, through her earlier childhood, V wasn't exactly a good child, but she wasn't the epitome of bad either. At least, not for her parents or teachers. She was adequate for them. However, since preschool, V had been the school bully. I say 'school' because she often beat on children older than herself as well; more of a challenge, in her mind. Of course, she was careful about the way she went around picking fights. She always provoked a first hit, instead of starting a fight herself, at least, most of the time. There were a few other occasions where she was the one who had been provoked, but those fights never lasted long, and always went in her favour. But she didn't always win. So when she came home late from school one October day holding her forearm at an odd angle and struggling not to cry out in pain. She had dislocated her elbow, and was rushed to the hospital as soon as her mother caught sight of the flailng limb and screamed. Though she vehemently denied a fight, her father had managed to see through that, and finally saw all her previous injuries -bloody noses, black eyes, moderate to severe limps, and multiple cuts scrapes and bruises- as a problem that needed solving; his daughter was a scrapper, and all that firey energy needed to be put to an outlet, so this wouldn't happen again...or, at least, less often. So, he enrolled her in ninjutsu.

"After hearing that tirade, you're probably asking yourself 'why in God's good name did her father enroll her in a dangerous martial art if he wanted to curb her insane amount of anger?'. Well, I can't answer that, the guy seemed pretty insane to me, too. Maybe the answer will reveal itself as I talk. Anyway, on her first day of Ninjustu, she was paired up with an older student, a brown belt with his second kyu who was supposed to tutor young V until she got the hang of the basics. The boy was, basically, one testing session away from being a black belt and leaving the school -Two tigers on one mountain and what not- Kyu being a status gained yearly to show your rank in your belt. Anyway, V was getting very very very frustrated as the class progressed. Not only was the boy not much older than she was and clearly a better fighter, she couldn't seem to get a punch in, even if she really tried to hit him. In fact, he seemed to be a little amused. She hated that. To her, it seemed patronizing, although she wouldn't know that word for some years to come and could only describe it with her limited vocabulary as 'being mean'. When she presented the dojo's sensei with the matter after her frustration had been simmering for about fifteen minutes -V was not exactly the most patient girl- but the sensei had told her to simply 'try harder'. In V's mind, all she could think was 'what does he mean try harder?! I'm already doing my best! That jerk! I'll show him!'. And, sure enough, while the sensei was showing another pair of students exactly how to perfect their technique, V crept behind him and made to kick the back of his knee. If you've ever tried to attack a man who is a very capable fighter, but is, for some reason, distracted, you should know what happens next. Just as the ball of her foot brushed the back of her sensei's gi, he flew around, scooping up her leg in his hand. One hand was ontop of her thigh, the other on her calf, under her shin, and he pressed against her leg in both directions...hyper extending her knee. VERY painful. But before she even had a chance to scream, he'd thrown her to the right, across the dojo, letting her roll on the tatami mats until she stopped. Dazed, embarrassed and just barely comprehending what had happened, she slowly stood up, trying not to cry. She stood in her regular fighting stance, think boxer, prepared to keep fighting. It was her way, you know. Most of the opponents she attacked were so mad they would just keep after it. Instead, she saw the sensei looking at her inquisitivey, and, for the first time in her life, V dropped her eyes. He seemed to be staring into her soul. Then he simply looked at her sparring partner, who himself seemed surprised, and told him that she needed to learn how to roll out of a throw or a joint lock. And thus, it began."

Delilah paused here for a moment, her eyebrows drawing together in thought. Her eyes had a faraway look to them, as if she were seeing into some long distant memory and was concentrating on diviluging it's meaning. She shifted her sitting posture to beside "Unfettered", her back against the headboard, her ankles crossed in front of her. She was still paying attention to his body movements and would move to try and stop him if she saw cause, but for the time being, it was almost as if Delilah was trapped in the spell of the past. She knitted her hands together over her stomach and continued, a more thoughtful note in her voice.

"She progressed rapidly after that, humbled in her defeat. In the course of two years, she advanced to the rank of green belt, first kyu. She learned much in that time, not only about the Art, but about what it took just to keep pace. Ranks are a general term; the white belts learn the same stuff as the brown belts. What separates them is how well they know a technique and how much intent they have on following through with a technique. V, starting out, had a LOT of intent, but her technique was very flawed, so amatuer. She didn't need the whip of the shinai against her ankles or the side of her head to tell her she needed to work harder; she already knew she needed more work. The girl was nothing if not determined, and that's what got her through. In time, after she gained a compliment on her technique during a 'randori' session, she realized that she still sucked, just as she did when she started a year and a half before. The only difference was that she sucked a little less. That only made her want to work harder. There were some nights when she came home that V would pass out in her bed without stripping off her gi, and others where she would work herself sore long after a lesson in order to get the feeling for the technique. Though she still fought on a near regular basis on the school grounds, it was far less than it had been in a long time. What she had learned, I think, through ninjutsu...at least at first, was 'temperance'. She didn't extinguish that fire in her soul -damned if she would let anyone put it out- but she learned to control it, harness it, and use it to her advantage. However, and I believe this is important, she would never ever accept the help of anyone in her class, and not even her sensei unless she needed it (even the, she asked through clenched teeth). You see, V still had a large amount of feirce, indomnitable pride. The only thing that could tame her was herself. She thought she could tame other people," Delilah smiled wryly, "Even instruct them to become better fighters, at least for those of lesser rank in her class and those on the outside of that narrow classroom. She had this idea that she, since she could defend herself, would be able to teach those around her to protect themselves. More than anything, though she would never admit it, she wanted peace, and the only way to get that peace, would be to improve.

"Sorry about that...it was a bit of rambling, but it had a point, I swear. Anyway, when V was about eleven, coming home one night after she had gotten her new ranking -brown belt- she was attacked by a couple of older guys on the street. I don't know what they were going to do to her, but they obviously knew who she was, probably affiliated with her father or something. They were older and much, much stronger than she was, but neither of them were serious; she was a little girl, barely over the age of ten. What would she be able to do? She suprised them with an air of confidence that exceeded her stature, then proceeded to totally kick ass. Of course, her confidence was her downfall, and did not bother to finish the job and knock them unconcious or jumped on their ankles so they couldn't follow, or whatever. Either way, V left them lying there in pain, and went home. Not to call the police, but because she wanted to tell her father how well she had done in her class.

"When she came in the door, she knew something was wrong. For one thing, none of the lights were on. For another, V could hear her mother screaming into the phone; 'What do you MEAN you lost her? It's not like she's hard to miss! Get back to what you were doing and find my daughter!' Of course, V in all her naievity, did not realize what was going on, but refrained from calling out to her mother. Instead, she hoped to surprise the woman with her entry. V crept up the stairs slowly, careful to walk across every surface her feet touched instead of walking on it. That's important in my memory, for some reason, but I don't remember why. When she came to her parents room, she saw it opened a crack and steathily moved to peer into the room, eager to see where her parents were so she could brush in and surprise them. What she saw..." Delilah paused for a moment, seeming to struggle with the words before continuing. "She saw her father lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes were bulging in their sockets, open though they weren't seeing. His tongue was a gross shade of purple, lolling to the side. The room reeked of copper and shit, but she wouldn't remember that detail for a few years. What she did remember was her mother, kneeling over the body, sobbing quietly, sreaming and whispering at the same time. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry', she said, 'I had to, I'm sorry, and our girl, oh, our girl, what will happen, oh, I'm sorry Martin.' V wasn't aware of what was going on at the time. Only that her father was dead and it had struck her to her core. She figured that conversation she overheard was her mother on the phone with the police, that the men she had just beaten up had been teh ones who killed her father, and swore from that day forth that she would do whatever she could to protect her family and friends at any and all costs, even if it meant her life. Seeing her mother in that pain was too much for her to comprehend, let alone deal with.

"But that's not why I'm telling the story. It's what happened after this that is important. When V grew up and left home -I'm not going to get into what happened after her fathers death, I've already been talking foooor," Delilah glanced at the bedside clock, "About an hour, so if you want to hear about that, I'll tell you later. Anyway, after V grew up and left home, she got a little phone call from her mothers lawyer. Mama V had died of asphyixiation in her home, and there would be a trial in regards to the nature of her death. It was when V went to this trial and funeral that she learned everything that had happend on the night her father died. Her mother had organized a hit, and the men, more like experienced novices in their art than anything else, killed the man and left no trail...including disarding their knives as they went to go find the daughter of the man, the heir to his empire. She could have gotten out of this situation, financially and legally, several times. She hadn't wanted the hit, but a mysterious transaction was made the night before the death, and has yet to be traced to ny one source. The FBI believed that Mama V ordered the hit for someone else, someone she promised a lot of money too, maybe even the company. The fact that V was her daughter was the only reason her mother hadn't killed her when she could have. Instead, she broke all her ties with her daughter and let her leave when she was fourteen, keeping her mere existance a secret from nearly everyone she knew.

"It was then V learned something she would carry for the rest of her life. No, I shouldn't say 'learned', she learned that LONG ago, but she realized it that day. 'Peace is a lie'. She had thought that you cannot rely on anyone except yourself...but when she learned all this from her mother, she realized, suddenly, that if her mother had just asked someone for help, had told someone who might be able to help her with this, or at the very least, get it off her chest, none of that would have happened. Maybe. I don't know, it might have, but I'm positive at least most of it could have been avoided. My point is that yes, relying on yourself is what anyone who has had a rough past will naturally do. But when you get to a point when your resolve is not enough to keep you floating, you need to seek assistance, even if it's only advice. If you don't, you will kill yourself, emotionally, spiritually, socially, physically or otherwise. Like V's mother."

She coughed as she finished, her throat dry from talking, and touched a hand to her throat self conciously as she reached with her free hand and lightly touched "Unfettered's" (provided he was still there, anyway). She would turn her head to look at him ssolemnly, a quiet smile on her lips. "If youw ant to go, you can. I'm just telling you what happens when advice goes unheeded. Advice both V and I had to figure out on our own. I figure...instead of asking if you need help, if someone grabs your hand while you're slipping, you'll be more inclined to recieve that help, if you value yourself at all." She let her eyes connect with his a moment longer before idly shrugging her shoulders. "That's just my opinion, of course. I just told you what I know. Everything else is up to you."