Anti-Heroics...Anti-everything

Who: Brett and Helena
When: in the afternoon
Where: in the make shift market square

Helena wished the warmth of an impending spring had visited early and had made shopping in the temporary market a delightful enterprise. As it was? It was still cold. The wind had died away significantly; that was one small mercy.

She'd brought her weekly allowance which was less than usual, due to the diner outing with the young girl, Pepper. She couldn't splurge at all today. She could only get the bare essentials. Unfortunately, this did not include the jeweled brilliance of the wool weave scarf that had dazzled her into a stunned rapture as she stood in front of the mannequin and imagined the emerald green brilliance wrapped delicately around her graceful neck.

This was all the opportunity the delinquent needed to make his move. Her delicate arm was no match for the brute strength of the thug's desperate attempt for a pay day. While Helena was busy daydreaming, he brazenly marched forward toward his victim and plucked the purse from her grip as simply as snatching an apple from a tree and pushed her down in the process.

The act of the crime startled Helena back to reality and helpless, she could do nothing but cry out, "No! My purse...Please....no!"

The thief took off at a clip as the damn broad started to holler - didn't she know when she was beat? Down in the mud and with the crowds, he should have been out of there in an instant, save for the fact that an arm came out of nowhere and caught him right across the throat, and then it was his turn to be down, only the ground felt much harder under his back, vying with the crushing pain in his neck as his vision swam.

The thief felt, rather than saw, the purse he'd so recently taken plucked from his grasp and then pain came again as a boot impacted with his side. A shadow passed over his face, blocking out the grey-white of the sky above him. "Get the fuck out of here and if I ever see your slimy fucking face trying that again, I swear to god I'll break it," a deep voice threatened - the tones of one who'd made the threat before, and followed through with it. He scrambled to his feet, this time taking to heel for a very different reason as he disappeared into the crowd.

Brett, meanwhile, turned back to the blonde, her bag held in his right hand, his jacket covering the gun he wore at his hip. He would have almost looked respectable, save for the fact that he hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and his jacket and pants didn't match enough to say that he was actually wearing a suit.

Helena watched from the ground. It was all she could do while the crime started a chain reaction of violence that deep down she couldn't help but appreciate. "hmmpf" she narrated audibly as the purse snatcher went down and her property was snatched back by heroic hands. "huh..." she went on as a foot flew into the thief's ribs.

The man who had decided to answer her plea for help stood over, looking down at her as if she was an inanimate object. She pulled down her mud stained dress, silently cursing the tear in her expensive stockings but maintaining her modestly despite her scraped knees. Her coat was a mess! She felt like crying but she was too relieved that her money had been returned to her. Or had it?

She went to reach for her bag but decided she could use help getting up from the slick muck of the mud she sat in instead and asked hopefully, "Could you please help me up?" unsure if his chivalry extended so far. She offered him her hand. "I wouldn't have worn these shoes if I knew this is where I'd end up." Helena explained.

"You're at a market in a park in the middle of winter and it's been raining recently - ground's not exactly gonna be solid now, is it darling?" Brett pointed out, his deep voice rich with a mix of disdain and sarcasm, but for all that he didn't leer at the woman on the floor and he kept his eyes on her face as she rearranged herself, never once glancing to see what he'd be able to see if he looked. The offer of a hand came a beat too late, as if he'd had to think about it and realised that he should, rather than it being something which came naturally.

She took his hand and remarked, "I suppose I am not very thoughtful when it comes to fashion." Helena looked down at her shoes, lamenting that they were covered in grime but knowing this man wouldn't care one iota that she wasn't presenting her best foot forward. It was rare that a man wasn't appreciative of her beauty. She was observing enough to wonder why a man would stamp on a petty criminal for a lady but hesitate to help her off the ground.

"Clearly," Brett mused, pulling her to her feet and letting her hand go. "But I kinda get that that's what fashion's about, isn't it? not being responsible." he held her bag out. "Yours, I believe. You might wanna get a better strap. or pay more attention," he advised, not cracking a smile at all.

She ignored his jab about fashion. The only thing clear was he didn't understand the pros of looking good. Unfortunately it had just been demonstrated what the cons were.

"Despite my lapse in purse fortifaction I owe you a debt of gratitude." She realized the mud had traveled from her hand to his but there was nothing she could do about that now except take her purse to open it and offer him a tissue. "Thank you for getting my property back, sir."

Sir? Right... "Trent, okay. And that's fine - you should just take more care. There's shits like him all over the place, waiting for your back to be turned," he told her, refusing the tissue and wiping his hand off on his trousers without a second thought.

"Trent, then it is to you, I offer my thanks." She waved the tissue, a gesture of alright then and used it on herself in an attempt to get some of the scuz from off her coat. "I try to be careful." She said defensively, "I need to go out. I can't stay inside all the time." She sighed, knowing she was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She'd just have to risk whatever weaknesses harmful predators wished to exploit. "Today I was lucky you were around, I know. Hopefully my luck hasn't run out."

"Get a better strap for your bag, carry it under your arm, where they can't get at it so easy," Brett recommended. Lots of people wandered round without some little shit grabbing what they had. It was just a case of being aware. Nothing to do with 'luck' as far as Brett was concerned. he looked her up and down. "And you probably gonna need a dry cleaners," he added.

"Yes..." She said, looking down at her ensemble and then smiling ruefully at him about his brilliant assessment. It was too bad she couldn't afford such a service. It might look like she had more than enough to spend but she only had about one hundred dollars to her name. He didn't need to hear her sad song and she hated to burden him any more with her money problems so she merely agreed. He'd gotten her out of a fix and she supposed that was more than she could ask of him. Plus, it looked like the fella had problems of his own. "You sure are helpful, Trent." She extolled, still wiping at the dirt. "but I don't think a strap would have helped. He mowed me over. I'm not like you...able to clothes line scum bags with a flick of my arm...."

"Bastard wasn't looking where he was going, not my fault he ran into my arm - and there was me, just reaching for something at about neck height," Brett told her, flatly denying that he'd done anything on purpose in both his words and his tone. He didn't want thanks, she'd given them once, he wasn't going to encourage her to give them again, or to paint him in any kind of a positive light.

She got it. She did. "Suit yourself Trent. Take the credit...don't take the credit. I've got my money back and that's most important." She tucked the purse firmly under her arm pit, determined not to be preyed upon again. "Your accident was my fortune. I even enjoyed it when you accidentally kicked him. You must have slipped, right? Ain't life funny like that."

That actually got a twitch of a smile from the bear of a man, though he covered it pretty quickly. "Nah - the kick was on purpose. Always kick a man while he's down - better than waiting for him to get back up again," he advised, glossing over the smile with a layer of below-the-belt fighting. Normally he would have simply walked away by now, but talking with Jackson earlier on had left him feeling unsettled and out of sorts, and it had taken some of the fight out of him that was usually there.

"You're just full of advice. I always thought you should kick 'em below the belt or...should I combine them. What do you say professor?" She noticed the glimmer of a smile and well, she was glad there was something below the surface that appreciated some of her humor even if he was trying hard not to have a nice time. It was curious.

Brett glanced down at the heels she was wearing, then back up at her again. "Those shoes, I'd say if wouldn't really matter, long as you aimed with the heel, not the toe. Could do some serious damage with those - really fuck a man up. If that's what you were intending to do - 'stead of sitting on your ass in the dirt." The last was probably a bit harsh, but Brett couldn't go too long without getting some kind of a jibe in. He made sure of it.

"Ahh, I see." She twisted her ankle a little, just so the skinny stalk of her heels would be accentuated. "You really like to make your point don't you?" She said, her feet now firmly planted in the muddy ground. She didn't think of him as harsh at all, just honest. "I'm not used to being alone. Are you telling me I should be more dangerous? Lead with my heel?"

"Harsh town, honey - especially these days. Anyone could be anyone. Think that a smart girl should know how to look after herself," Brett told her, making a show of looking her up and down, somewhat disdainfully, since his first remark hadn't hit home in the way he had wanted it too. She'd simply batted it away.

"Anyone could be anyone?" She snickered and then answered mawkishly, making a show of the sugary sentiment of her own insight, "but it only takes that someone to make things happen." Of course she meant him. But, there was a deeper meaning too. Helena was not an idiot and if he wanted to belittle her then so be it. She was searching for a killer in a city full of murderers and so she was taking his jabs to heart, using them as advice rather than getting upset about his opinion of her. "I'm learning. I've already had one lesson today."

"If you haven't been watching the news, darling, there's a killer on the loose - and I doubt that he just sticks to the night and the shadows. For all you know, he could be the guy walking down the street next to you in the middle of the day, just Joe Normal and you'd never know. Can't trust anyone these days," he offered, knowing that she could easily take it that he was talking about himself. He didn't care, he'd already been threatened with arrest once today, even if the guy hadn't really meant it, he had on some level.

"Hmpf. I'd bet everything I have that you aren't the killer." Her nose twitched like a rabbits and finally she resigned herself that he didn't want her to think he liked helping. "Your instincts betray you, Trent. You're the only one around here that gave me a hand. The rest of 'em didn't even look my way. So, I'll let you alone if you want but I'm not an idiot."

The corners of Brett's mouth curled up into a cold, cruel type of smile as he raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I just wanted you to notice me. Get close to you," he pointed out. Being the hero for a pretty woman could do that for a guy, he knew that very well. Played right, it could open doors. It wasn't a card he played, but that didn't mean he didn't recognise the power of it. "But glad to hear you're not an idiot - there are too many of them in the world, one less now, I guess."

"Please. I've been noticing you this whole time but you've hardly noticed I am a woman since you handed me my purse back. Get close to me? You can't wait for this conversation to end." Maybe she shouldn't be so forthright but he had been honest and so she didn't want to patronize his own intelligence.

"Well darling, clearly you're just not my type," Brett snorted, rolling his eyes. "If you were actually listening, I said that that could have been my motivation, not that it actually was. Might be news to you but people in this world don't always do things for good reasons. There's a million and one reasons why I could have floored that little fucker. For all you knew, I could have had my own personal vendetta against him and was doing it for my own reasons. After all, like you said - I put the boot in. Nothing like a bit of personal gratification, when all's said and done."

"You're right. I don't think I am anybody's type lately." She was implicit if only because he had rescued her from going hungry for the week. As sour as he seemed he was due her gratitude and so she held her tongue and fought the urge to go salty, "but whatever reasons you had I still appreciate you stepping in. So now I'll do you a small mercy in return and quit while I'm ahead." No, he hadn't ended the conversation but he looked about as comfortable as an animal in a steel trap, standing here conversing with her. Guilt oozed and her own self issues had made her want to set him free. "Listen, Trent." She said, surveying his outfit, "I'm good at sewing, tailoring....if you ever need anything I'd be happy to return the favor. You can look me up. I'm Helena Kinney..."

Brett eyed her right back again, shifting his shoulder slightly to resettle his jacket. Fucking women and their fucking... There was nothing wrong with the way he dressed; they were only clothes, damnit. It wasn't like he needed high-fucking-fashion. But they were never happy, were they? "Noted," he said, in the end. "Where do you live? You got a number?" It was probably easier to take it than turn her down flat, after all.

"I don't have a phone." She admitted, "but I can give you my address. It is one hundred thirteen, River Ridge Drive, Apartment 6 a few blocks from Sixth Street Bridge."

Brett dragged a pen and a piece of paper from his jacket and scribbled that down, along with her name across the top, then thrust it back into the inside of his jacket again where he figured he'd forget about it. He wasn't generally in the game of taking women's contact details, but she'd offered and he'd asked, so... He now had her address.

After he had scribbled and then remained silent she smiled at him and nodded to set the end of their exchange. "Take care Trent." She said and then turned to go.