the bibs & bobs

Hansel & Gretel

 “Aye, what's a pretty girl like yer’self doin’ in a place like this?” a man of big stature asked with a wicked grin on his face.

“Trust me; you don’t wanna know,” the girl replied, not once sparing the man a glance as she finished up a glass of coke and watched his reflection in the mirror in front of her.

“I think I do,” he growled, angry that she refused to look him in the eye when he was speaking to her before grabbing her shoulder and turning her around roughly. “Now, why don’t ya tell us what yer doin’ here?” he demanded, face much too close for her liking and his pigs breath making her fingers curl in a want to punch him.

“You really wanna know?” She asked, lip twitching as her other hand closed around a knife behind her back, “I’m here to kill,” she shrugged easily, shoving him off her and throwing the knife at the woman in the corner of the pub who was quick to dodge it and run. “Not so easily,” she muttered, making a run for her even before the knife penetrated the wood of the seat she had been in, the girl’s gun suddenly out and shooting at the woman whose hood had fallen back and showed her rotten face, screeches coming out of her mouth as she went to dive out of a window.

And then there was a crash as another, bigger person took the witch down. An animalistic squeal and then a bang as a gun went off the commotion cut off within moments.

“Well, that was easier than I thought,” the girl muttered as she crossed her arms and stared down at the headless witch, the guy who had shot its head off standing up and pulling his bloodied shirt down with a huff as he met the girl’s eyes much similar to his own.

“She was obviously a newbie,” he smirked as he leant down and grabbed the dead witch’s leg, the girl beside him walking off to put more wood in the open fire on the other side of the room that he dragged the witch toward.

“Of course, brother, what other explanation is there?”

“That maybe I’m getting too good,” he smiled smugly, stopping by the fire as he and his sister grabbed hold of the witch, and, on the count of three, threw her into the fire.

She rolled her eyes and retrieved her knife. “Whatever floats your boat, Hansel.”

“Dead witches, Gretel,” he grumbled as kicked at the witch’s leg which had fallen out of the fireplace, “Dead witches float my boat.”

“Well, isn’t that interestingly morbid?” Gretel replied as she walked over to the bartender and collected the money, ignoring the man who was the first to talk and threaten her previously and looked like he was about to poo his pants. She stopped and thought better of it as she pointed her knife at him, “Touch me again and I’ll sever your head off,” she murmured lowly, eyes narrowed and only half meaning it considering she obviously had better things to do, “understand?”

Trying but failing to make words as a slight whimper came out of the man’s throat he simply nodded as he pressed against his friends who happened to press against the bar counter.

“You’re a bully, you know that?” Hansel queried as his sister handed the wad of cash to him and they walked out of the pub.

“Oh shut up, he’s the one who harassed me first.”

She only got a scoff in return.