Fiction-phile: Guts and Sass – An Anti-Epic by M.E. Traylor

She wanted to do one of those message in a bottle things, one that read something like:

But not only did Hannah not have handwriting that fancy, at this point it just seemed easier to go along with it.

Day three: Recon.

It wasn't actually day three, it was more like week something-or-other, but it was day three of reconnaissance.

She was sweeping the top deck again, because there was nothing else to do and it was outside. It was morning, and it felt nice. Seventies maybe. It seemed like there were more guys up top, sitting around doing stuff with rope, or nets. Some looked like they were playing cards. She had yet to find the inboard motor, GPS, or radio. She needed to find an excuse to get into the cabins. Hannah had gotten to the point where she was starting to work around the big wooden box at the front of the ship, when she found her progress blocked. He was staring out over the sea, and he was not paying attention to the cleaning lady.

"Move." He looked up in surprised irritation, blinking. She swished the broom at him. "Moooove." He kept staring at her, looking vaguely hostile. "Move." Hannah scooted forward, and he backed up, into the box behind him. She heaved an exasperated breath. "Move. Move. Move." She tried to dance around him, just as he tried to step aside, and they ended up blocking each other again. "Move, move, move." He tried to slide past her the other way the same time as she tried to duck that way. "Move move move move—"

Hannah's brain suddenly went blank, and she didn't flash back to when the guy had slapped her when they chucked her overboard. She flashed back the last time she'd been slapped by her mom, for back-talking in that particularly tense space of time right after someone's been laid off, and suddenly every smart aleck remark is a calamity.

The sting went deep, the numbness from the impact wearing off after the first second. Standing there tight with nerves, he looked like he was ready to do it again. Hannah straightened her face to look down at him, trying to comprehend that he had just fucking slapped her.

In movies they never show how much it hurts your goddamn hand to slap someone. At least if you do it hard. And Hannah generally went in for the pound."You do not fucking slap me."

He looked at her, stunned, one side of his face turning pink, as if this was not a possibility he had considered.

She slapped him again, and he threw up his hands in front of his face, tangling their arms. Snatching back her hand, she darted in from the other side and got him again.

"Try that on for size."

"Laberd!"

"Get back here, you sorry motherfucker."

He was already scrambling away and she kicked a leg out to trip him, dropping the broom. He stumbled, still protecting his face, so she got him one in the stomach.

"Mudut!* Aff— Stop!" Hannah kicked him in the calf, tripping over the tilt in the deck. "I am gonna—"

"You'll what? Fucking slap me?" He kept backing, toward a little group standing on the high side of the boat, a black guy and two white guys, one of whom was Blondie.

Everyone started backing up when it became clear that there would be no deviation in course, but then the guy went and hid behind Blondie.

"Getter off me!"

Blondie looked confused, and also like he was threatening to smile again, in that way that made Hannah think that maybe he wasn't running on all cylinders. Ignoring him, she reached around and whacked at the guy again.

"Fucking whore," she said, catching him as he tried to dash around Blondie.

"How did this start?" Blondie asked, like he was asking the weather.

"She was, aggh! She wouldn' leave me alone, an' I hitter, and then she went crazy—" He dodged again. Blondie took this opportunity to step out of the crossfire. "Juele!"

"Pansy-ass bitch." She smacked the back of his head, then got his arms a couple more times. When she stopped, he froze, arms still covering his head. She pointed at him. "Don't fuck with me." Then she turned around and marched off to find her broom.

"Mirea, toludt fasi ak behom."**

———————–

*"Stop!"

**"Mirea, you have a hilarious life."

M.E. Traylor writes free sci-fi and fantasy novels over at metraylor.com. Met's current project is Guts and Sass: An Anti-Epic, where you can read about all your favorite fantasy tropes and character types… not quite the way you've learned to expect them.