kelly ditty

Notes: This little ditty is brought to you by the letters "B" and "T", for "Beta Triumvirate", and the number "3". Kelly Pyron is a permanent resident of Stonyland and therefore belongs to me. This is a missing scene from Stranger Things Have Happened. Duncan MacLeod belongs to Panzer/Davis.

The smell of stale beer, strong liquor, and cigarettes assaulted Kelly's nose as she pushed open the door to The Hunt Club and stepped inside. Her green eyes searched the room, which was decorated in a mishmash of liquor-related advertising art and military memorabilia set against a backdrop of pale oak paneling. The mostly male, paramilitary patrons of the bar turned to watch her. Instinctively, she shrugged her right shoulder, thus shifting the weight of her rucksack more firmly across her back. The gesture opened her battered leather jacket to reveal the nearly foot-long knife she had strapped to her waist. She did not draw it, though, and saw acknowledgment of her silent "Don't fuck with me" gesture reflected in the eyes of the nearest patrons. She nodded grimly, satisfied. She didn't want to talk to anyone tonight; Duncan had pissed her off royally, and the last thing she wanted was company.

Apparently, though, that message did not register in the farther reaches of the bar. No sooner than she had managed to step up to the bar and place an order for a double shot of Jameson's than a voice spoke in her ear.

"Let me get that for you," he told her.

She turned to face him, noticing immediately how his blond crew cut made his blue eyes and Roman nose stand out more prominently. A black POW/MIA shirt only served to cover rippling chest and shoulder muscles, while stonewashed jeans clung to tapered hips and long, lean legs. His skin reflected a deep bronze tan, the kind one got from a tanning booth. His feet were enclosed in black high-top sneakers.

She smiled, and watched his lips curve in return. "No," she replied pleasantly.

"What's the matter, honey?" he drawled. "Don'tcha like men?"

Her eyes narrowed, a sure warning to anyone who knew her. Unfortunately, the stranger didn't. "Not assholes like you."

"Someone ought to teach you better manners," he growled.

"Oh yeah?" Her drink order arrived. She laid a pair of twenties down on the bar, silently signaling she wanted the drinks to keep coming. "How's this?" she asked. Raising the glass, she toasted him. "Go fuck yourself." Then she downed the shot and slammed the glass on the bar.

"Leave her alone, Dwight," the bartender cautioned, coming back to pour Kelly another double. He plunked down the bottle beside her.

"No. This girl wants to play hardball, we'll play hardball." He leaned in close, his breath rank against her ear.

Calmly, Kelly elbowed him in the gut. He went sprawling across the floor. She barely glanced at the man as she considered the glass versus drinking straight from the bottle. The bottle won as the bartender grinned, shook his head, and slid the money she'd laid down into the cash register drawer.

Dwight staggered to his feet. "Why, you— " he started.

"Leave her alone," another male patron argued, stepping into Dwight's face.

Dwight punched him, leveling him flat. He grabbed Kelly just as she was about to take a drink from the bottle. The whiskey went everywhere as she spun around on the stool.

"Goddamn fucking stupid asshole," she cursed, trying to rescue the contents.

"Girl like you ain't worth such good whiskey," Dwight said, snatching the bottle from her grasp and drinking what was left.

"Bull fucking shit," she replied, and punched him.

Then all hell started breaking loose.

*****