Gift: Jacki and Creeper

Her footsteps were like bullet fire. One after the other as she raced down the street and at unholy speed. BANG BANG BANG as her Converse hit the wet pavement, her flat heels smacking the ground each time as her heart pounded inside her chest. Hammering away like someone had trapped a mechanical woodpecker in her ribcage. She slipped slightly in a nearby puddle as she turned the corner sharply, nearly skidding in the process.

At this hour of the night, the chances of being saved were little to none.

The group of older men (possibly early twenties to early thirties) chasing after her was clearly some kind of gang. Black Mask was known to operate in that area and they were too under-dressed to be Joker's crew. They ran after the purple-haired girl in hot pursuit. Blood on their hands and one of them limping from where she had kicked him in her struggle, their breath was raw and ragged like the panting of ferocious wolves chasing after a rabbit.

Hunting.

BANG.

The teenage street-rat yelped as she heard a shot whizz over her head. Crap, they were firing at her now?! Not giving herself the chance to build up any tears, she tried ducking into an alley to escape them. But they were too close on her heel. Running in after her, the faster of them in the lead of the chase was no less than two meters behind her. She could feel his outstretched hand try to find her arm or the fabric of her jacket. At the end of the alley was a metal fencing. If she could use the adrenaline rush in her veins then she could probably jump it and climb over, giving her enough time to lose them.

Jump.
Cling.
Pull.
Scream.
Fall.

The young girl looked up from behind her broken glasses, painful tears beginning to form as she hissed in pain. The connection of her head to the rough and cracked floor made her blurry and unfocussed. Opening up her blue eyes, she tried to look at the faces of the men about to beat her to bloody pulp. But they swirled in her line of vision and the lopsided glasses weren't helping.

Barely conscious, she tried to form a sentence. "Please, don't--"

The ringleader of the five men shook his head, cocking the gun sharply and interrupting her. "Think you can spy on us? Walk down our streets?"

She shook her head nervously. "N-No… Please--!"

"Hiya, folks!"

All six of them looked up to see the figure hanging from the fire escape. He was animalistic in nature, even in first glance it was easy to tell that much. Draped around his lemon-coloured skin was a large red boa made from the hide of an unknown animal. His hair was tousled, messy and like a clump of seaweed dumped on his skull. Grinning from ear to ear, he swung himself over so that he was hanging upside down from the black metal.

One of the gang members who was standing around the exhausted and broken teen began to move over. Trying to get a better look at this guy. "What are you, a fucking drag queen?"

The creature's grin fell slightly into a look of remorse. "Unfortunately, no…" he said with a sigh, jumping down and landing perfectly on his feet with a slight spin. Pointing out one very muscular leg, he admired his calf in his red rubber boots in mild interest. "I've never had the calves for it."

The thugs began to look at each other. Invisible question marks appeared over her head. The teenager in the middle of them watched as they began to turn away, facing this new possible threat that seemed a lot more suspicious than a bleeding girl. Slowly sitting up and getting glimpses of the yellow monster through the men's legs, she looked up to their faces and found them fairly distracted.

The blonde ringleader holding the gun, clearly at a loss of ideas, tried to speak up. "So what are you, freak?"

The stranger looked up from his shiny fur-lined boots and to the gentlemen before him. Seething slightly at his answer, he shook his head. "Ooh, close. But no cigar or zebra-print undies."

He tried again, finding himself mildly amused and actually smirking at this weirdo before him. Looking him and his obviously well-toned frame, wondering why someone of his stance and appearance was just sitting around making wisecracks, the blonde leader spoke up once more. "So what? You're one of Joker's new pets or something?"

The man laughed. "Heh-heh… Uh… Not really, no…"

Another one of the abusers spoke up. "What do you want with us then? Can't you see we're a little occupied with business matters?"
Even when they mentioned her, they still didn't turn to check if their purple-streaked pest was still there. She shifted, moving on her elbows and scooting against the graveled floor to try and separate herself from the men. The guns were still in their hands and she was still outnumbered. She couldn't afford to make much in the way of noise. And as long as this guy kept them talking then maybe she could get away…!

The green-haired monster thought to himself for a moment, tapping on his chin with one of his gloved fingertips. "Hmm… Well… First I was gonna pick up some eggs (I'm running kinda low back at the secret lair…) and then… I was thinking of seeing a movie. Philosopher's Stone is still playing, right? And theeen… Well, I was going to beat you guys up!"

The thugs, who were too busy chuckling at this strange behavior, slowly dimmed down at the last point. The blonde leader, gun still in hand, raised an eyebrow. This guy was still smiling like an idiot. Maybe he did work for the Joker… "What?" he barked.

The stranger sighed. "Yeah. Don't wanna crash the party or anything, guys. But I'm kind of going for this whole 'Superhero'-slash-'ruggedly charming anti-hero' kind of thing. So after I punch him—" he said, pointing at one of the guys in the back "—in the face and then kick him where the carpet matches the drapes—" he continued, pointing to the thug by his side "—I'll take out the guy with the scar on his neck and then I'll rescue the girl! All safe and sound!"

Everybody suddenly turned to see the teenage girl. She had crawled so far that she was nearly a meter or so away from where she had been knocked out. Suddenly she was yanked from the ground by her short hair, screaming out in pain as she tried to thrash her way out.

"LET GO OF ME, YOU CREEP!"

The half-naked superhero frowned. "Oh come on, I haven't done anything yet!"

As if suddenly reacting to the word, his persona changed entirely. Springing into action, he kicked the thug leader directly in the jugular with the heel of his boot. As two more men tried to approach him for a fight, he leapt back with a cat-like spring in his heel before smashing their foreheads against each other.

While the fight went on, the man holding onto the young girl's hair tried pressing the gun to her head. But the way she was struggling in his grip made his hold on her unsteady. "Hold still you little bi--!!"

Her elbows connected with his groin in such a fury that he nearly collapsed. Bending over in agony, his grip on her loosened, she took the position to her advantage. Jumping to her feet with a rush of adrenaline, she took the man by the back of his head and rammed his face into the point of her knee before kicking him to the ground. The gun once in his hand scattered across the floor, skidding against the paving and out of anybody's reach.

Getting to her feet, the girl watched as the blonde figurehead fell to the floor. Unconscious and badly beaten. The man wrapped in his fluffed red boa straightened himself out, looking around at all the cast-away bodies in a bemused manner. As if it was only now that he realized that they had just brought down a gang of five fully-grown and armed men.

"Huh," he grunted in a careless manner. "Not a very lively bunch, are they?"

The girl smirked in a mildly amused manner, brushing herself off. "For jokes like that? No way."

He was about to give a witty retort to her sarcastic tone of voice, or even an impression of some wounded young pup at the way she shut him down, but as he turned to meet her he noticed the curves of her frame. The unusual colouring of her hair and the wide blue eyes behind a pair of broken glasses. She was young, yes, but she was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

With a low wolf-whistle, he took a step towards her in his hunched-over form. Skulking around her like an animal inspecting prey, he grinned at her in the most charming smile he could manage. "How did a cute little thing like you end up in such a bad situation?" he asked, clearly checking her out.

She narrowed her eyebrows on him, folding over her arms protectively. "I was just walking home when I saw them beating the crap out of some guy. They didn't want any witnesses so—Can you please stop doing that!?"

The 'hero' was paying full attention, but only to her rack. His tongue hanging out and panting like a dog, But as she raised her voice to him, sending daggers with her defensive glare, his jaw snapped shut and he stood to his full height, giving her eye-contact once more. His face was blank for a moment, reading her for any signs of conversation, but it broke down gradually. Cocking his head to the side, still resembling a confused dog in her eyes, he gave her a woeful look. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

She groaned in frustration, beginning to walk away from him and heading for the slim exit between the buildings. "Argh… Fucking creep…"

She yelped as he leapt right in front of her, swinging over her head and landing on both feet with perfect balance. "So you do know my name! And some filthy language, too, from the sounds of things…" he scolded, poking her in the nose teasingly.

The teenager took a step back, rubbing at her nose as if he had just wiped a clump of dirt on her face. "What the Hell are you talking about?" Looking him over, lingering maybe just a little too long over his muscular chest, her voice turned from snarky to curious. "And who are you, anyway?"

"You know my name, remember?" He struck a pose of a classic horror monster, his gnarled fingertips hovering over her petite shoulders as if about to clutch at her skin as he bared his sharp teeth. "I'm the Creeper…" he purred down her neck. But suddenly he bounced back into his misfit mindset, happy-go-lucky and standing up straight. "But if you want to, you can call me 'Yellow-Skinned Wacky-Man.'"

She snickered at his beaming smile, her cheeks pinching as she felt a slight smirk. "I think I'll stick with the first one, Creepshow."

"Creep-er…" he corrected. "The name's Creep-er." But he saw the expression on the girl's and smiled with her, following her out of the alley and leaving the unconscious gang behind them in their wake. "So, what do I call you? The Purple Damsel? Four-eyes? Babydoll…?"

She shook her head at all three names, especially at the way that the Creeper purred out the last one. "'Jacki' will do just fine."