Jeanette Beatrice "Betty" Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notthaticequeen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
calling_logs2016-06-02 01:27 am
notthaticequeen) wrote in calling_logs2016-06-02 01:27 am
Entry tags:
There's no menacing finger-snapping going on here.
WHO: Betty Barnes and Dean Winchester
WHAT: Fixing a little gang war.
WHEN: As Betty's on her way home one evening.
WHERE: City of Shadows
NOTES/WARNINGS: Given that this is Betty and Dean, probably not the cleanest language ever. Also violence. I mean. C'mon.
For all Shadows felt like home, it had this pesky problem with crime rate. As in, it had one. A big one. And just like the news man had said, it had been a little more elevated than usual lately.
For the most part, Betty had simply avoided getting into it with anybody. She didn't want to draw attention for one thing, and for another, she didn't have a dog in their fight. Or at least she didn't until tonight. No, tonight, they had to make it her problem.
All she'd wanted was supper. Some fresh food to cook in her new-to-her apartment, on dishes that she'd gotten on the cheap with a few chips here and there (but they were HERS, and it made a difference), and...
And okay, maybe it felt a little nice to do some Susie Homemaker stuff. Like cook. Wash dishes. Have curtains. Some little kernel in her heart was still a product of her era, and damn it, it just felt nice to have a corner of the world that was hers. So when some hoodlum tried to mess with her and her groceries (mistake number one), her first instinct was to tell them she wasn't in their little dispute.
Of course, given that she was a she and they were young punks who thought they were kings of the block, that didn't go over very well.
Betty's groceries were still scattered over the sidewalk. That might have been her fault, but they'd grabbed her arms and tried to pull them behind her. Mistake number two. In the moments they spent jeering, her attention had focused on her orange. Her big, beautiful, perfectly ripe orange that rolled toward the sidewalk's edge and then plopped into the gutter.
Funny how just that one thing set her off.
She broke their grip with one push of her elbows, turned, and landed a heavy right cross to the cheek of the jerk behind her. When he reeled, she grabbed him by the knee and swung him at his buddies. "You started it," she growled. "I'll finish it."
WHAT: Fixing a little gang war.
WHEN: As Betty's on her way home one evening.
WHERE: City of Shadows
NOTES/WARNINGS: Given that this is Betty and Dean, probably not the cleanest language ever. Also violence. I mean. C'mon.
For all Shadows felt like home, it had this pesky problem with crime rate. As in, it had one. A big one. And just like the news man had said, it had been a little more elevated than usual lately.
For the most part, Betty had simply avoided getting into it with anybody. She didn't want to draw attention for one thing, and for another, she didn't have a dog in their fight. Or at least she didn't until tonight. No, tonight, they had to make it her problem.
All she'd wanted was supper. Some fresh food to cook in her new-to-her apartment, on dishes that she'd gotten on the cheap with a few chips here and there (but they were HERS, and it made a difference), and...
And okay, maybe it felt a little nice to do some Susie Homemaker stuff. Like cook. Wash dishes. Have curtains. Some little kernel in her heart was still a product of her era, and damn it, it just felt nice to have a corner of the world that was hers. So when some hoodlum tried to mess with her and her groceries (mistake number one), her first instinct was to tell them she wasn't in their little dispute.
Of course, given that she was a she and they were young punks who thought they were kings of the block, that didn't go over very well.
Betty's groceries were still scattered over the sidewalk. That might have been her fault, but they'd grabbed her arms and tried to pull them behind her. Mistake number two. In the moments they spent jeering, her attention had focused on her orange. Her big, beautiful, perfectly ripe orange that rolled toward the sidewalk's edge and then plopped into the gutter.
Funny how just that one thing set her off.
She broke their grip with one push of her elbows, turned, and landed a heavy right cross to the cheek of the jerk behind her. When he reeled, she grabbed him by the knee and swung him at his buddies. "You started it," she growled. "I'll finish it."