Exploiting Weaknesses

Here are a few notes about the drawing before I go on explaining what fresh hell this is. I'm pleased of the proportions of Marc's body, but Rachel's aren't pretty good. Her breasts are way too low. She's supposed to be 34, not a 75 retiree from Boca Raton. Anyways...

This scene needs a little background info. After a really strange and vivid argument with A. S. Phyxia, Fourstrings leaves her. Enraged, she uploads personal info on him to vileNET that hasn't been made public before...

It was a dark, cold evening. The day had been... strange. Women had been following him all day, smoking. It was never enough to truly destabilize him, but enough to make him weary. Something wasn't right. The way A. S. Phyxia pretended she "wasn't bitter about the break up"... it just wasn't like her. What if she sent some of her agents to follow him?

At any rate, Marc had just lost the trail of Leonada. That girl played all sorts of dangerous games. Sometimes on the side of good, and sometimes, like tonight, on the opposite side. "Oh well... she's basically a cat. And I've never been great with pets", thought the young man.

Fourstrings arrived in a backalley, a shortcut to his appartment. A distinct stench of smoke began to fill his lungs. "Archange, is that you?" he asked? No answer. The boy kept walking, as the smell of smoke intensified. "Archange, this isn't funny anymore" pleaded Fourstrings, slightly nervous. "I-I'm sorry about the breakup but -"

The young man was interrupted when, out of nowhere, he felt hands clutching on his costume,. "What the - "

A ripping sound burst in the night. Marc turned his head to see his assailant; a beautiful woman in a fur coat, smoking.

"Aw, poor thing, looks like your clothes are broken" began the lady. She had a sultry, infatuating voice.

"Wh-who are you?" asked Fourstrings, shivering from the cold.
"Call me Rachel" replied the woman in a confident tone.
"W-w-what do you want f-from me, R-Rachel?"

The woman moved towards the man with a smile on her face. "You ask so many questions... Can't it stay a surprise?"

Rachel then chuckled as she faced the man, sliding her right hand on his exposed torso. "Hmmm... yes. Remarkable..."

"Get your hands off me!" began Marc, attempting to push the woman back. But as he tried to move, he found that his arms were pinned behind his back, unresponsive. "What the heck?!"

"Aw... Maybe now would be a good time to mention I have telekinesis" said Rachel, as she kept massaging the man's chest with her hand.

"What do you want from me, Rachel?" said the man, beginning to get mad.

"Now, what do I want... Well, I wanted to meet the famous Fourstrings... and now that that's done..."

Rachel removed Marc's goggles.
"...Now that that's done, the only thing left is to knock you out" winked the lady, bursting with confidence.

"And how - oh no..."
The boy was apprhending this moment from the start. Rachel took a long drag off her cigarette and blew it at the immobile man's face.

"Yes, sweetie. I'm aware it stinks" began Rachel in a condescending tone "and I'm also aware that it makes you very, very... weak."

She was right. As Marc coughed, she kept smoking, taking multiple pumps before finally exuding large clouds of smoke at the boy's face. It wouldn't be long until he'd be unconscious at this rate.

"Hmmm... oh, I can't let you go out like this, all weak and vulnerable and... cold". It was true that the night's below zero temperature wasn't helping Fourstings at all. "Here, let me hold you in my arms..."

Marc instantly felt a warming sensation when Rachel closed up on him. He also coughed even more. The coat itself smelled like a thousand ashtreys, how was that even possible?!

"Ugh, don't cough in my face, impolite little boy" teased the woman as she plunged Marc's head into the fur coat with her hand. The man was almost out of oxygen. A few more seconds and he would...

"Uuuuuuughaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh..." stammered the boy as he slipped into unconsiousness. The last thing he would remember from that night is the satisfied chuckles of Rachel.

"Sweet dreams, pretty boy..."

So, yeah. That's the ticket here.

Rachel Collins, Fourstrings ©