Life is a velvet crowbar

@selfdestructiveseven

Slick found Crowbar in the commons room sitting on a worn couch that still had faded dapples of blood on the armrest. And without saying a word, he grabbed his neck from behind and squeezed tight. His growl was hot in the man’s ear. It wasn’t uncommon for the guards to allow the caged animals here to tear into each other.

“Wanna hear what real whimpering sounds like? I can help you learn how to do it.” He squeezed tighter, rage building up in his body like a volcano.

Crowbar barely managed to hit send on the last exchange of messages when he felt a steel grip squeezing his windpipe shut. Seems like he wouldn’t have the last word on this one.

The cheap phone clattering to the floor with the tell-tale sound of the screen cracking, Crowbar instinctively went to claw at Slick’s hands, his mouth gaping like a fish’s for breath. His thoughts began running high with adrenaline; he didn’t expect to be rescued any time soon from the guards, much less from the other inmates, who were already gathering around in a semicircle and cheering for the show about to go down. 

He knew punching back wouldn’t serve much, as not even his crowbar served to crack Slick’s hard head back before they were thrown in the slammer. And scratching like some bitch at the hands choking him out would do even less. He had to play dirty.

The hands coiled around Crowbar’s neck were gone as the angular man stumbled back, shaking his head to and fro. “You little bitch.” The words came from his teeth like venomous bullets.

But before he could retaliate, the guards had already stepped in. It seemed the men’s reputation proceeded them, and no one was keen on cleaning up bodies.

“Solitary, two weeks, both of them”, barked a man who was in charge of the rest. It wasn’t long until they were both being drug off, Slick cursing and spitting the entire way there.

Coughing out the burning sensation left by Slick's grip - he could almost feel the shape of the bruise that would leave - he didn't resist against being dragged away. But he did hiss a retort at Slick.

"Fuck you, I'm not the one that-"

"Quiet, both of you," one of the guards snapped, his hands tightening threateningly on Crow's arm. Crow winced and fell into a brooding silence, trying to keep up the pace without tripping on his own feet.

Clang. It’s a loud, metallic ringing that slams through one ear and out the other, leaving everything in the middle rattling. Every tooth seems to loosen in his mouth a bit, a few definitely flying from his mouth. Not that it’s stopping his assault or his rage. Once he rights himself and avoids falling over the decaying railing of the stairs he twists back with his knife, starting his retaliation with a well placed donkey kick intended for Crowbar’s knee. “Finally. Fuckin’ finally, am I right?” Snarled out through his teeth, of course, as he begins to stab at Crowbar with vital, brutal intent.  Kidney, kidney, solar plexus.

The crack of your knee resonates through you like the twang of a string, and you wonder dully if your tendons have a part in that. Either way, it knocks your leg right from under you. The bright side is, the white-hot pain manages to make the following stabs feel like bee stings in comparison. Or maybe the knife is just sharp, and you’re high on adrenaline all of a sudden. 

You grab his wrist on the last stab and wring it like a wet rag, pulling Slick close enough for an encounter of the blunt trauma kind with your forehead. You don’t figure a hit on that thick skull will do much since your crowbar barely fazed him, but perhaps you can distract him long enough to... you don’t know, cave some other part in?