Throwdown

May. 5th, 2018 05:47 pm
andhiswife: (SIR OR MADAM)
When the bag finally comes off her head, Greta sucks in a breath, ready to resume the tirade she’s been firing off in intermittent bursts ever since these masked goons first grabbed her. She hasn’t the faintest idea why they’ve taken her — they haven’t asked for anything, or said so much as a word to her. They’d just pounced on her the moment she left her property, slung the bag over her head, and bundled her into a vehicle.

Now, of course, she regrets how well she’s managed to avoid them. If she had a better sense of what riding in a car was like, she could have done a better job of figuring out where they’d taken her.

Not that being able to see helps much on that front. It looks as if they’ve brought her to a theater. Or what’s left of one: she takes in peeling paint, torn upholstery, dust, and fallen plaster at a glance. She feels as if she ought to cough, just on principle.

But before she can cough, or speak, or attempt to wrench herself free from the two rogues who frog-marched her in here, a spotlight illuminates a figure onstage.

Cut for length )

[ OKAY. Greta is stuck in an abandoned theater with a demon and his assorted henchmen. Feel free to treat this like a gathering for tag-teaming against said henchmen to a presumably epic soundtrack. I’ll also post a TL for actually destroying the big bad. OPEN FOREVER. ]

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The Baker's Wife

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