Des

Beggining of Desmond Byrds story. my book. i think.... title "Skill" i think im going with.

“Grimy little bugger this one, eh?” the tall thug spoke to his friend. The shorter one, with the muscle shirt and ripped jeans just smiled and reached a hand toward their cornered victim. Des had placed the accent as English, just north of London. He waited silently as the hand grew near. “Please don’t do that.” He said quietly. “What? Why not? You gonna call the cops on us ya little c**t? Trust me your body will be rotting on the bottom of the Thames with some concrete shoes if you bring the pigs down on our heads.” Muscleshirt spat towards the seemingly frightened Desmond. “Don’t” Des spoke desprately. The tall one moved forward. “Stop.” Muscleshirt whispered, “Look at his eyes.” The tall thug turned his head and grabbed Desmond’s. He stared into the boys eyes and threw him away. “You some sorta freak there mate?” The tall man inquired. “Some sort.” Desmond replied. Muscleshirt laughed, “I aint never seen a boy with purple and red eyes before.” He kept chuckling as he moved towards Des. “You got a pretty nice trenchcoat there boy. I think I’ll take it to keep myself warm.” Desmond’s eyes darted to the Tall one who was creeping around to a position behind him. Muscleshirt lunged, grabbing at the trenchcoat. Desmond let him get a hold then spun out of the long, black cloak grabbing the end as he did. He yanked as Tall realized what was happening and grabbed for him. Muscleshirt was already stretching when Des slid out of the coat, his balance was upturned as he was pulled headlong into Tall. Tall did a somersault and when his back hit the ground Des was there stomping his windpipe. While Tall choked and seizured on the ground Muscleshirt was up and readying to tackle Des from behind. Des glance back and jumped to his hands. As Muscleshirt leapt Des lifted himself with his hands and struck the thug below the chin. Des could hear the bones snap as his legs smashed into Muscleshirts jaw. The thug fell hard and ceased movement. Desmond walked to the ragdoll and saw the neck bent at a sickening angle. He knew that would happen. But when I show fear it just eggs them on. How could they know its myself im scared of? Desmond thought to himself. He pulled the dirty trenchcoat on over his black button up and slacks and strode out of the alley. That what I get for running away… Sleep with the filth on the underside of society and get mugged. “Great.” He muttered to himself as he stepped off the sidewalk and into the doors of the bus between the large Irish guy and skinny metalhead with the mohawk. He closed his constantly swirling purple and red eyes and slept again, replenishing the energy used by his skill. He would need it for the days to come.