The Flower Woman

Standing atop one of the pikes of La Catedral Santa Esmeralda, Rohan perused the city in search of his target. He knew he was a beefy Italian man and he knew that whatever it was that brought Antonio Rondini to the beautiful country of Alamera made the mobster worthy of his blade. Taking a deep breath, Rohan was once again grateful for his unique set of abilities that surpassed those of a human. It’s what made him the best at his job and what afforded him his expensive lifestyle. The night was riddled with all kinds of smells, the strongest one being the impending rain.  The moon was bright and round but hidden behind a thick veil of clouds waiting to burst. Rohan frowned. He detested cloudy nights, especially during a full moon, especially when he was on assignment. It seems the universe conspired against him tonight. Regardless, Rondini’s scent was peculiar and he had no trouble picking it out from all the other smells that saturated the musky evening air.

“Alright, Linguini… where are you hiding?” He inhaled deeply again, focusing, when the silence was pierced by the shrill shriek of a woman. Snapping his head in its direction and not thinking about it twice, Rohan leaped towards the source, effortlessly landing on sloped rooftops and bounding back up into the air. Rondini could wait. Excitement beckoned. Rohan couldn’t possibly turn down an opportunity to do good, to be a hero, something other than a hitman.

As he came closer he began picking out the different smells. Garbage, urine, bitter blood, sweet blood, sweat, alcohol, and… He came to a halt atop the building from where the sound came from and looked at the alleyway below.

Flowers. He smelled them before he saw them strewn about the floor.

In the darkness, he made out the shape of a young woman pushed against the wall, her neck trapped between the structure and her attackers forearm, a bunch of flowers sprawled on the floor next to them. He was pawing at her with his massive hands and she appeared to be struggling half-heartedly. The attacker, on the other hand, was snickering and telling her all the things he was going to do to her in a drunkenly slurred Spanish and they were not nice things.

Angered flooded his system like the thick blood in his veins. Absolutely nothing angered Rohan more than the terrorizing of women (and maybe also when they misspell his name in Starbucks) but just as he was about to leap down onto her assailant she looked up, and not just up but right at him. The force of her stare even made him take a step back.

From the angle she was in and the lack of visibility, she should’ve been unable to spot him. And yet, there she was, glaring at him. Him! As if he was somehow to blame!

The assailant took notice of her distracted gaze. “No more struggling, mi amor?” Snapping her eyes away from Rohan, she brought her arm up and over his forearm, pushing down, making him lose his balance, an opportunity she seized for landing a swift blow to his face. The man stumbled back, howling in pain as he gripped his bleeding nose. She, on the other hand, despite her ripped dress and her exposed chest, stood in a battle stance, teeth bared.

“You. STUPID. BITCH!” He lunged at her head first and she grabbed him by his hair and used it to haul herself up to his shoulder, utilizing that momentum to flip them both over onto the ground, his head locked between her thighs. Rohan watched in amazement as this woman took down a man twice her size effortlessly. He struggled against her grip until his face went from red to blue and red spots dotted his wide eyes. Rohan couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to be trapped between those thighs. She was quite beautiful. She possessed an earthy allure typical of hispanic women.

“Are you kidding me?” Her thick accent rang out, breaking his train of thoughts. “I’m trying to finish him and all you can think about is what I look like?” She scoffed. “Men.” Releasing her legs, she got up and hauled up her victim by the hair and with a swift lift of her leg, rammed her knee into his face effectively knocking him out and breaking some bones along the way.

Rohan was speechless. The burly man fell noisily against the wet floor. The woman proceeded to remove his jacket, the filthy thing as she called it, and proceeded to cover her nakedness. With a final glare at Rohan, she picked up the least battered flower and quickly walked away from the alleyway.

It took Rohan a few seconds of stunned silence before thinking that he should follow her. Make sure she was fine, he told himself, not that he had any doubts of her ability to protect herself. Just as he was about to jump down from the building, a gust of wind blew his hair back and he smelled it. Rondini was nearby, close enough that Rohan could smell the ashes from the Cuban.
He groaned, remembering his assignment. Realizing that he couldn’t go after the woman, he reluctantly turned in search of his target, the children trafficker. For now, the flower woman would have to wait.

 

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