Previously….

"You know where those cats are headin’, don’t ya?" asked Tasha. "Yeah, reinforcements,".

20 minutes later

  "Oh my GOD! This is taking forever! I just want to hurry up and get home so I can get some sleep. I have tennis practice tomorrow," whined Dana and the gang continued to walk through Artist territory. Kit stopped dead in her tracks. That was it; the last straw. She turned around to face Dana and yelled, " I am so sick of your whining ass! "My legs hurt", "Are we there yet?"; on and on! We could die out here and all you care about is fucking tennis practice! Guess what, Dana? You fucking suck at tennis so shut your fucking mouth right now and walk before I whoop ya ass right now!" Dana, sick of Kit’s attitude, yelled, "I suck at tennis? Well you suck at singing! You’re always walking around here all big and bag like you own the world! I am so sick of your Foxy Brown Cleopatra Jones wannabe attitude telling me what to do. Truth is, you don’t have the balls to lay finger on me. You’re chicken". Listening to what they believed to be Dana’s last words, the rest of the gang slowly backed away, giving Kit enough room to through Dana wherever she wanted. Slowly and methodically, Kit walked up to Dana until they were nearly nose to nose. The look in Kit’s eyes made Dana wonder if she should take back her statement now or later from her hospital bed in ICU. "Hey, Elles! You think you can mess with the Starving Artist!? Well think again!". Suddenly, rail thin Artists emerged from their hiding spots behind trees, lamp poles and trash cans. The battle was on. Paint brush handles sharpened down to sharp points were expertly dodged by Bette as she sucker-punched her attacker in the stomach , bringing her to her knees and a roundhouse kick to the temple knocking her lights out temporarily. so much paint and blood splattered the pavement it would’ve made Jackson Pollock jealous. By the end of the fight, both gangs looked like a paint-by-numbers kit. The Elles left the Artists bloodied and bruised, and looking vaguely like a Georgia O’Keeffe painting.

Abandoned Street

 The sharp click-clack of stiletto heels echo soundly in the quiet of the street flaunts more courage than Helena currently possesses as her eyes scan back and forth. "What are you up to?", the sultry voice of the current head of the Elles made Helena spin around quickly in shock but, being Helena, she didn’t allow it to show. "Maybe I’m looking for a little action," replied Helena in a husky voice. "What you talking to her for? I got the long tongue!" called Papi, showing off her "gift" as the others snickered. Quick as lightning, Bette gathered Helena up in her arms. "Maybe we should run a train on her. You look like you might even like it." "I don’t think you have the energy." Brown eyes locked onto blue as they both forgot about the world around them. Their gaze was broken by the sound of shoes pounding on pavement. "You see what you get, Elles!? You see what you get with the Starving Artists!?" came Winnie’s battered war cry. She was surrounded by what was left of her emaciated gang. "You wanna see what you get when you mess with the Elles?"  "Kit, where did you get that gin bottle?" asked a weary Shane. "I did. I quit smoking, too," Kit replied as she took a bandanna, sticking it into the bottle and lit it with her lighter. "Here’s to many more years of sobriety!" yelled Kit as she tossed the bottle towards a car parked near the offending gang. The immense explosion not the Artists off their feet, giving the Elles the chance to flee.