"A dozen packages an hour, Chris, so keep moving and don't fuck around. This fucking monsoon is just what we didn't need."
Nick was crabby, that much was clear. Even early he scowled, no slack so Christina scooped up the parcels in their new waterproof envelopes and tucked them on her back. "How long am I working today?"
"Until eight, what the fuck do you think?" and he went to answer the Connect, his whole switchboard was lit up. "Hold please. --We have a thousand new deliveries in this rain, the shipyard's closed until it lets up so all the food has to go straight from the containers to their homes, and no way to transport thousands of tonnes of wine in two hours."
"You need any extra hands? I know a few people."
"Call them, stuff them, mount them, I'll take anyone. Cash under the table." Nick looked desperate, desperate and wet.
She patted his shoulder. He was a good guy, stuck between rich and not but still a good guy, good boss. "Have you some kids in an hour, maybe less."
J was home, Pink and Red and Red promised to call a few others, let them know about the job opportunity. She started off on her bike, rain whipping into her face and flooding the streets, to make the deliveries.
Raining, the city smelled different. Still steamy and hot, the water washed the smog away. Raining was one of the only times the city felt clean.
The water kept traffic at a stand-still, business down. The docks were closed, so hundreds of people were left wandering the streets and looking for other ways to get food, money. Christina kept a knife strapped to her boot and eventually all the packages delivered, sun down and time to fight.
ALARM didn't close for water. The ring might be flooded but people would still be there, still want blood and as long as people were paying she'd be there too.
The ceiling dripped. She was soaked by the time Busta let her in, and still it was hot, hot and sticky. The weather never cooled down anymore. No bouts with her name on them, not tonight so she tapped Pharrell on the back, got a tab and dropped it. Mind started to float immediately, and she could even finally ignore the dripping from the ceiling.
The latest amateur was a fucked up blond twink of a girl who always wore shorts and thought that a tie made her hardcore, made her someone that could take your knees out. The one time she got up into the A-ring, Christina took her out with just one kick and then stepped on her on the way back to the floor.
This night it's her and some shaved head neo-skinhead with a black eye. Christina, fucked on ketamine and too twitchy to roll with the rest of the dancers in the main room, was hunched against the damp wall, watching the two of them stretch before the bout. The skinhead, she didn't notice, never seen her or the guy all in black behind her so they're probably not slum kids and no one seemed to know their names. The blond girl with, too much goth and not enough balls to even take out MM, is doing important looking stretches and making snarly faces at nothing in particular.
Neither of them even have reps, they're so amateur that the only people watching were the few drugged out specimens needing a quiet place to cool down. Christina wiped her mouth.
The ref, short bald guy staring at the chick's ass as she bent down to tie her expensive fake fucking sneakers -- yeah, the ket was taking a down and nasty turn, bitter and she could feel bile, stupid fucking girl.
Bell chime, Christina looked up blearily. "GO" and then they were feinting, ducking. The girl bore her teeth and the skinhead kicked her ribs, Christina heard the crack from over by the wall.
A few half-hearted cheers, the skater loser was already panting, skinhead barely breaking a sweat and pop. Pop.
Christina noticed the guy all in black chain smoking, smoking and watching like he was all there. She stood up groggily. "Got a light?"
The guy looked over. "You want a cigarette?"
"Please," and another pop, pop and damn. That skater girl wasn't ever coming back. Bleeding lip, now. "Make it worth your while..."
The guy handed her a new smoke, and she lit it off his burning one. "Enjoy," and he turned back to the fight where the skinhead chick -- hot girl, dressed for practicality, not for show or flair -- smashed the girl with her own skateboard.
"Well, that's it then," and the guy went to hand the skinhead the towel.
Christina watched, leaning heavily against the wall. Grungy, and they were already heading off, so nothing there, fuck it, she was going to have to head back into the main room to find anyone else worth her attention. They were the only interesting amateurs in the whole city. Cigarette was good, though.
Some scrawny kid challenged her, and in the B ring no less but fuck it, people were tipping so Christina got in, kept one arm behind her back and the kid didn't do too badly, got in some nice moves before she knocked him out. Back on the dancefloor, immediately saw a ring around a couple of people, the crowd leaving enough room for some serious moves and, oh, that pink hair stood out.
She leaned against a pillar, good view of Pink and Red grinding and doing some complicated moves, freestyle, on the dance floor, half sex and half fighting. Hard, yeah, and she ran a hand down her thigh, back up it. Tingle. Pink aimed a kick up at his head, and he grabbed her ankle delicately, licked her calf.
A glance over her way, Pink jerked her head as Red ran his hands down her sides, she moved her hips with his, facing away and towards where Christina was standing. The crowd, a loose circle around them, was slack jawed and panting. Pink licked her lips, a little cracked, raised an eyebrow, arms wrapped around Red's neck from behind.
Tingle, and a shiver.
Christina went, first slotting herself in front of Pink, hands thrown above her head and grinding. And, yeah, thigh between Pink's strong legs, pressing up and *in*. Then Pink slid away, keeping her hands on Christina's ribs, drifting down and up and then down again as she pressed Christina in against Redman, into the middle, moving slowly and driving Christina crazy. She was already soaked through, sweat rolling and beading on her lips.
Shiver, a brushfire down her neck, collarbone, breastbone, through her bellybutton and straight -- *yeah*. Ache.
A mouth at her neck, and Pink licked from her nape to her ear and, a shiver and a tingle and Christina closed her eyes, moving and moving and moving and, shudder, right *there*-- then, a rush and no one was pressed up to her on either side, Red and Pink both gone, and she opened her eyes.
They'd stepped away, and Christina was left gasping in a circle of people pressing closer and closer in on the three of them. Pink was standing in front of her, had her head tilted. Red was grinning wide, leaning on Pink's shoulder casually. Christina gulped down a breath, goosebumps raised all over her arms and legs and stomach and if something wasn't done about it in the next five seconds. She grabbed their wrists, tugged them through the crowd, legs like jelly. Pink let two fingers rest on her hipbone, stroking just a little, just enough to make her skin tremble and, and. And.
The three of them found a nice secluded alcove, a bench and enough space. Christina licked up Pink's thighs, tasted and licked while Red held her up from behind, moaning. He kept the rhythm slow and steady, strangely out of sync with the frantic techno, the frenzy. He went slow, and she went slow, and Pink kicked her legs up, braced against the wall and stomach rippling.
Christina slid against Red, him in her and her fingers in Pink, and she barely felt the sweat dripping down her back, her legs. Sweat or rainwater from the roof, sweat or rain, sweat or rain. Her skin was numb, could barely feel Red's hands on her hips holding her body up. it was different and agonizingly slow, and she gasped, a huge shudder going through her.
Red put her down, and she stretched out beside Pink on the bench. He slid down the wall, and their breathing matched up, erratic, ragged, wonderous.