Ermm... Uh, Slick fingers.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Eep! This is something I started for a thing in our club. They wanted a fan fic. and I did one with original characters. From what I've been told it is in serious need of editing.(please forgive me! And try to read of rsontent, not grammer) There are other issues too. Like no one could understand the time period and people had difficulty accepting Slick's lust for Amy. Anyway enjoy.

Submitted: January 02, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 02, 2007



NOTE to reader(s): this is unedited so STFU about all my errors.Okay, just enjoy it… chill. Read!

Zach walked with his head held high, jaw straight, shoulders squared. This was going to be

difficult. He was walking to his death and this time he wasn’t sure he’d find a way out.

Zach was going to be hung for his thievery. In all his life he had never been caught picking a

pocket, that’s why he had his title. He was known to all as slick fingers, people mostly called him

slick. They were lead in groups of five, each on chained to the next.

“Ay, old slick is getting’ what ‘e diserves.” A voice said, he turned and saw the people cheer and

clap in agreement.

“Ay, yull be next, bloke.” He retorted in his snide cockney accent. The girl in front of him looked

back, her head was lowered. Maybe you can save ‘er. Duncha think you can? Sh’up. He told


The were all brought onto the large wooden platform, nooses were secured to their necks and

their chains taken off. The girl ended up standing next to him.

“Ay, miss, wuts yer name?” He asked quietly. She didn’t look at him or offer an answer to his

question. “Bloody… Well, I ‘pose yer name dun matter ta me. But I wanna ‘elp ya. ‘right?”

He put a hand on the nape of her neck, he smiled inwardly when her skin became goose flesh

under his hand. Well bloke, ya still got yer charms. Gi’ls hatecha. Dun want ol’ slick fingers

touching them. Bloody ‘ell yer a pervert, ya know that?

He began to work at the knot, unslipping it painfully slowly.

The crowd watching the hanging laughed. “What’s this? Slick’ll be fondling girls ‘till the day he

dies.” The laughed,

“ I’ll get it w’ere I can.” He grinned. He finally got the knot loose, it would slip right off when the

trap floor beneath them opened. “Can a swim?” He asked, leaning conspiratorially close.


“By God, she speaks!” he was so glad to hear he speak he didn’t notice what she said.

The person operating the lever for the floor was yelling to the crowd. Slick looked up as the

man pulled the lever.

“Shit…” He grabbed for the sharp knife he carried in a sheath on his wrist. He couldn’t breath, he

heard himself making loud gagging noises. The girl fell, she screamed but her rope opened, she

splashed into the water. He brought the knife up to his neck. He saw the withering feet of the

man in front of him kick in frustration as he slowly suffocated.

Ya dun want that to happen, bloke. Better hurry. He cut upward, the rope fraying and letting him

go. He was freefalling. It was a lucky thing the held the hangings over the pier, they figured if the

ropes snapped they would drown and be carried away with the current. He as just thinking to

hold his breath as he went under, the waves were strong, forcing him down. He saw her, floating

limply nearby.

He swam to her and tried to break the surface, her clothes were water-logged, he couldn’t do it.

He cut her skirt and blouse to shreads and finally got to the top. He held her head above the

foaming water with one hand. Jeeze ya moron, she ain’t even breathin’ no more. Ya went and

killed her. He saw the small sailing boar of his friend, they were scouting the water for him.

“Ove’ ‘ere ya knuckle heads! Ya late’ that usual.” They came to him and helped him in, along

with the girl.

“I thought you couldn’t afford a p’ostitute.” He said,

“Shut ya face, mich.”

“Or, are the hangings nude now?”

‘She ain’t…” He looked at her, coughing weakly, her eyes were closed as she gripped the coarse

wood railing. She was a pale naked form. “That was my fault. Why ya late”

(note from author, bsdies these words that I'm currently typing. Wat is above amounted to 666

words, interesting, eh?)

“There’s something about seeing you all wet like a drown rat that makes it worth waiting.

Besides, yer cuter when yer mad.”

“Hearin’ t’at from ya should make a lad nervous, Mitch.” Slick said.

“Ay, I wonder if she’s pure.”

“That’s really none of our business.”

“C’mon ya telling me you saved her from her imminent doom because you’re all moral now? Ya

0gone soft, Slick. Quit thieving if yer gonna insult us.”

“I ain’t gone soft.” He growled.

“Then why duncha… ya know, use her?”

“You’re sick Mitch. She’s unconscious and…. What, half my age? Ya kiddin’ me?”

“Ay, then let a real man show ya how.” Mitch approached her, his hand moving to the slight swell

of her breast.

“What’re ya doin’?

“I’m havin’ a lil fun.” He pulled her up into a sitting position and stroked her hair.

“Mitch…” Slick’s voice was low and calm as always but it had a sharp warning edge to it. Mitch

wasn’t listening; he was too caught up in his own fantasy.

“Mmmm.” Mitch groaned deeply. The girl’s head lulled from side to side with the gentle rock of

the boat. He had slipped his hand between her legs. Slick stood and was almost instantly beside

Mitch. He tore at Mitch’s hair, and offered his neck to his knife. A fat red bead of blood stood out

on Mitch’s neck.

“Getcha fuckin’ ‘ands offa ‘er. Ya mangy cur, I’ll kill ya.” The lusted flush on Mitch’s face was

replaced by pale fear.

“Okay.” He completely released her.

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