It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be-
No... that is not the story taking place in the alleyway at night.
The girl stands against the wall, her cheek and hands flat against the cool rough stone, touch of tears in her eyes and gaze fixed desperately on the lips of the woman standing behind her. The woman's mouth moves, forming words difficult to see in the shadows, and yet clear enough that she knows they cannot possibly be the right ones.
Failure to comply...
Her staff, resting between wall and hand, is seized.
This a weapon?
She lets go, feeling the smooth carved wood fall away from her fingertips.
...handing it to me quite fast, the shape of the woman's mouth says under deadened eyes, Did you just try to hit me?
"N-no," the girl stammers, feeling blood drain from her face, "I w-would never-"
Assault is a serious crime, Miss. Do you deny having attempted it?
A light gleams in those dead eyes.
Excessive escalation...
"I d-didn't mean-"
Are you telling me I am stupid?
"N-no!"
She is deaf to the gentle scrape of metal on leather as blade is unsheathed; the touch of that cold blade to her throat does not go unnoticed. Tears glisten in her eyes, remaining unshed only by virtue of that paralyzing fear. The woman's hand rises to dig painfully into her hair, fingers twisting in her messy braid to yank her head backwards.
...you braindead cripple...
All she can do is weep, her sobs broken only by gasp of pain as her hair is wrenched back again. Her hand lifts from the wall, and the woman holding her focuses on it with shivering hunger. Her words go unwitnessed, but the meaning is soon clear from the several violent strikes to the girl's forehead; the Guard is merely subduing a violent criminal with swift, brutal Justice, no matter how much she cries.
The girl drops.
Blood trickles down the side of her face. She is too stunned to move, to make any other sound than a pained wheeze, which is then forced into further panic yelp as a boot delivers a sudden and sharp kick into her side. Tears mingle with blood on the cobblestone once more. She is quiet.
Sorry I had to get rough, Miss. But you left me no choice.
Once more, clawlike fingers twist through her hair, yanking her up to dangle limply from the woman's grasp.
Yeah, your own mistakes hurt, don't they?