This is another character that exists in the world of "Chicago 2043". I have been having some difficulties writing Jack recently. Though I have finished the next two issues, So don't worry. Rubi is another character that I have had in my head. Let me know if you would like to see more of her.
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/>Chicago//District 1035
/>07.11.43
Rubi Rascke was perched atop a bar stool at the Saloon Tavern. It was a quiet place. The whole place had an Old West saloon feel but with obvious updates. Info screens hung on the walls, and a jukebox sat in the corner. There was an balcony that encircled the whole place. Her scarlet hair framed her face. Her emerald eyes starred down at her glass of scotch. She wore a yellow ringer t-shirt with black trim. Her leather vest was covered in patches and pins. Her black skinny jeans were faded and tucked into well worn black leather combat boots. A Union Jack patch was stitched onto the knee of her left leg. Her eyes were lined with dark makeup. She heard a group of people enter the building. Someone grabbed her shoulder. She spun around. A large man stood behind her. She recognized him, Drek Anderson, an old 'acquaintance'. One she wasn’t too proud of being associated with. He was at least six-five. He looked down at her through a data screen with his beady black eyes. He held a fat black cigar in his mouth. Tattoos covered his muscular arms.Wisps of smoke hung in the humid air.
“Ah! Rubi! A long nickel and dime nah clock!” He chewed on the cigar. He spoke with a thick Cockney accent. Rubi pushed his hand off of her shoulder.
“Buzz off Drek, I don’t want any static.” she growled. Drek blew a ring of smoke in her face. She looked down and coughed. The tobacco made her lungs itch.
“Ya owe me a Robin Hood thrust, lil' twist n twirl.” he growled.
“I don’t owe you shit!” she spat. She spun around to face the bar, but he grabbed her arm.
“Ya thumb-suckin' bitch! 're ya just garn ter leef me sittin' 'er blue balled?” he breathed.
“Let go of me.” hissed Rubi through gritted teeth.
“Or wot? ya gunna cut Frank Bough me cobbler's awls?” he laughed.
“No.” said Rubi. Her boot found his crotch. He cried out and doubled over. She raised her fist and slammed it into the side of his head. She jumped off the stool as he struggled to stand up.
“Ya 're garn ter pay for ‘at!” he roared. He flicked the cigar at Rubi. The hot ash hit her skin causing her to recoil. His fat sausage-like fingers wrapped around her neck. He slammed her against the wall. She gasped as pain shot up her spine. She could feel her windpipe beginning to collapse. His brow was furrowed and he glared into her eyes. She struggled to get loose of his grip. She remembered her pistol tucked away under her vest. She flailed and tried to reach it, but he slammed her into the wall again. Plaster rained down on them like snow as the wall began to crack. She gasped for air as her hand found the metal of the pistol on her belt. She drew it and pulled the trigger. Drek screamed and dropped her. She coughed, air rushing into her lungs, spittle hung from her mouth in thin strands. She looked over at Drek. His thigh was bleeding profusely.
“Ya god blimey whure! Ya shot me god damned 'ard boiled Borra And Beg!” he cried through gritted teeth. She stood. Her legs wobbled. She pointed the pistol at the crumpled man.
“I fucking told you. I didn’t want any static!” she coughed. Her voice was hoarse.
“RUBI!” came a woman’s voice. Rubi’s eyes darted upwards. An older woman in her mid-fourties leaned over the balcony. Her black hair was done up in a bun. She glared down her long nose at the scene before her. She wore a red crushed velvet dress. Her high cheek bones were exaggerated in the dull light. Rubi didn’t take the pistol off of Drek.
“Put down the gun Rubi.” commanded the woman. Rubi reluctantly re-holstered the pistol. “Good girl. Now come. We have something we need to discuss." Rubi nodded and headed up the stairs.
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Picture Source: http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/288/0/0/cyberpunk_girl_sketch_by_beaver_skin-d5hvwpk.jpg
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