Posted by PK on October 31, 2001 at 19:27:23:
The Crew attacked. Or at least some of them did. The director, to give him due credit, struck
the first blow with a half-rotten tree branch. Amanda caught it lone handed and ripped it out
of his grip so forcefully that the bark tore the skin of his palm. The videotech tried to hit her
with a rock, she struck him inside the elbow with the edge of her right hand, an easy inward
move that left his arm hanging uselessly. The rest was too fast to follow. Amanda blurred in
the camera sights, people fell away from her like straws in a hurricane. No Hong Kong Fooey
moves, Belinda noted. No high kicks or somersaults. No leaping and swinging from
branches. No battle cry. She did something with her legs, tripping and scything but mostly
she just used her hands and occasionally ducked. It was no contest.
That puts paid to the bluff theory, the producer thought in a rare honest moment. He had
hung back. Amanda heard him think, apparently, and turned on him what Clark Ashton Smith
might have described as 'the stress of her regard'. He flinched from it. "Quite right," she said
grimly.
"Now, wasn't that fun?" she inquired of the others. "Don't tell me that wasn't fun! Sorry, I've
gone all Buffy. I'm a big fan. Okay, we can do this the hard way, or...well, actually, there's
just the hard way. I just hope the scriptwriters don't sue me. Do you think they might?" She
pantomimed worry.
"What do you want?" The director croaked. His hand hurt and he couldn't breathe.
"Jerry, the disk," Amanda said. She held out her hand. "I was kidding," she soothed him.
"There is an easier way. Honest. I just can't resist a good line."
Or what, you'll kill us all? Jerry thought.
"Bet I can't?" Amanda inquired. "Do you feel lucky, punk? Time's running out...." She turned
to the director. "Is that enough cliches for one scene?"
The director regained his voice. He spoke very carefully. "Jerry? Just give her the fucking
disc." Helen of Troy's evil twin, he thought. "Don't argue."
Amanda took it. "Thanks awfully," she said. She turned away, and then turned back. "I have
to be honest," she admitted. "It could have been better. How can I put this gently? I can't.
You were bloody terrible." She shrugged. "What can I say?"
The videotech, nursing his broken arm, gritted out, "What happens now?"
"Shoo. Fly away home. Quit the field, as the Bard would have it. Crawl if you must." The
huntress flipped her hand. "You're not worth hunting. Get out of here before I change my
mind, you do offend my sight. All that rot..."
She hoped it would be enough. Time to pick up Belinda and give Carol her present. Only fair.
Olivier I'm not, she had to admit. Then she smiled. Party time, the day's work done. Chill out.
Coming, Carol, she said. Now we can get together. I'm bringing a guest, hope you don't
mind.
"Is she really gone?" the producer asked. He had not joined the battle. Not there on St.
Crispins day. Slugabed. Branded a coward.
"She's gone," the director said. He breathed in, his bruises hardly mattered. He'd fought and
survived. "Now, take this seriously. We evacuate in good order. No more panic. We cut our
losses."
Amanda led Belinda into the clearing around the cabin. Carol was still there, rotating on the
spit like the scene from 2001 with the Strauss waltzes. Orbital mechanics. Somewhat more
constrained....
"Hey, honey, I'm home!" Amanda trilled.