"What a load of bullshit!" the man said angrily. "More likely that you're fucking the cook." He made a grab for her plate.
Sharon responded by trained instinct. Darting a hand out, she locked the man's forearm in a tight grip, twisting sharply and slamming it down against the table. His face twisted up in rage, the belligerent gladiator-in-training responded in his own, shoving up from his seat in an attempt to wrench his arm free and simultaneously sending the mess table hurtling up towards Sharon, the others scrambling to get clear. Soup and milk and broken crockery splattered across Sharon as she released the man's arm, leapt straight up in a crouch that cleared the table as it crashed to the ground behind her, and landed neatly on the other side.
Sharon managed to get off one satisfyingly sharp blow to the man's solar plexus, sending him sprawling backwards pole-axed, before the guards and the other gladiators had surrounded her, the whole mess tent a commotion. She winced dully at the crack of the guard's indiscriminate truncheons driving her back, but noticed clearly that the broad shoulders of Ebon and a few other gladiators pulling her away did more than their share of shielding her from the guards' angry blows.
Sat Jun 21 07:57:35 2003