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| @Calamitys_Chaos |
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| Drawn and submitted by the sweet @Serenity_X |
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| Submitted by our pal @T0MFooL3RY |
THE WINNER!
<- The winner, after Serenity cleaned it up a little and e-mailed it to us. We liked the martial arts blade type image behind the name, but it didn't make it through editing...it's still a kick ass picture though...
We also got a request from a follower who asked if he good do a 140 Tweet description for us, instead of a drawing...of course we said yes...we love creativity! Turns out he turned it into a story and made it a cliffhanger; we hope that once NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) is over we get to find out the end...even though he opted to use another concept for the contest, we hope he finished this story in December.
This is that story...
This is that story...
Frankie the Blade
A short story
By Caleb Frost (a.k.a @ChuckyBreadHead)
Frankie walked down the sidewalk, her 6 inch stiletto boots clicking loudly on the concrete, a slight limp just barely noticeable. There were scratches on her face and arms, some long and deep, others barely breaking the skin. The black trench coat that engulfed her blew up in the breeze, revealing the holsters all over her torso, containing knives of every shape and size. From switchblades to kitchen knives, totaling at 30 different blades. The skintight black jeans she wore stopped right beneath her ankles, concealing a butterfly knife in each boot. Her blouse, a deep purple, buttoned half-way up and the top of her bra just showing. On her back, underneath the coat, were crossing sheaths. One contained a samurai sword, the other, a rapier. Her nails were long and a deep blood red color. Tonight being a special night, she also had a nightstick strapped to her right leg, along with a small, black case in her right hand. She got to her destination, an old, grungy, two story building. She pushed her way through the door, and the smell of the hookah bar that was the ground floor filled her nose. She walked to the back, the few people who were there watching her closely. She sat across from a very greasy looking Italian man. He ran a hand through his slicked back hair and smirked at her, his yellow teeth and foul breath making her wince.
“Did you get it?” He asked, his eyes looking her up and down. She tossed the case on the table towards him. He grabbed it greedily, and his smirk dropped. “This feels light,” ice forming on the words as he spoke them, “Why’s that?”
“I subtracted my fee and some damages from it.” She said, fighting to keep a smirk from spreading on her face. He opened the case, and his face becoming a mask of rage.
“It’s empty, you thieving cunt. Are you trying to rip me off?!” He shouted at her. Three body guards, built mentally and physically like silverback gorillas, appeared when his voice raised. Frankie glanced at them and chuckled, pulling out a switchblade and flipping it.
“You didn’t give me full information. I almost died. I’m not ripping you off, I’m making a profit. Next time, don’t try to set me up.” The greasy man’s face turned almost purple with the rage, and he snapped at the guards, “Take her out back and beat the shit out of her. Keep her alive, though. We’ll turn her in and make my money back in a day or two.” The land masses that were his guards nodded in unison and the main one grabbed her by the shoulder.
“You’re going to lose these men. You know that, right? They don’t stand a chance.” She said, still flipping the blade. The greasy man merely gestured toward the door. Frankie sighed and stood up, walking out the back door, followed closely by the bodyguards. They stepped out and the guards made a circle around her. “Really boys, this is uncalled for. You don’t have to die for his idiocy.” In response, one of the guards tried swinging a punch at her head. She whipped out the nightstick and slammed it into his arm faster than he could even see. A sickening snap was heard, and the guard winced slightly. Another guard tried sweeping her leg, and she threw the nightstick at his head. He fell the minute it hit him, and she flipped open the switchblade, slicing the third guard from face to hips. He fell to, screaming. “Pussy.” She muttered, then turned her attention back to the last guard, unfortunately a minute too late. He hit her over the head with a piece of rebar. She crumpled and, as she passed out, heard a car pull up and a few gunshots. Then, the world went black.
