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hh_mirror2010-04-30 09:27 pm
gdcallbabydoll.livejournal.com) wrote in hh_mirror2010-04-30 09:27 pm
Entry tags:
Application for Hit Girl, from Kick-Ass (movie)
((Hit Girl is taken from the end of the Kick-Ass movie, please expect super spoilers, extremely foul language, and violence without much provocation. All attacks will be mun-approved, please specify if you want her to bring the hurt.))
After eleven years of being shot, beaten, stabbed, knocked around, and receiving general ass beatings for the Greater Good, Mindy Macready decided that six months of mundanity was way too fucking much.
She didn't learn how to be a goddamn superhero just so she could sit around and learn about American History.
Sure, the tiny, starved button of conscience she still retained shriveled at the thought of going back on her word and donning the mask, wig, and kevlar of Hit Girl, but there were bad guys out there, and Kick-Ass had retired is stupid cockgobbling ass to bang his gooey-eyed girlfriend. Red Mist, that failure of villainy, was still out there somewhere.
In her book, Big Daddy's ghost would not settle until everyone in the D'amico crime family was rotting in the river of shit. Hell, what's the worst that could happen? No ice cream for a week? No rottweiler for Christmas? She could deal, and so could Marcus, who really took the whole legal guardian thing a little too seriously.
Okay, so the worst that could happen was that she could die, but she didn't plan on doing that anytime soon, and she seriously doubted that Red Mist had the balls or the resources to take her out.
Finding lower-teir drug-runners was the ultimate in ease; they always gravitated to the same crappy apartments in the same ghetto neighborhoods. You think they'd learn, now that superheroing was starting to get more popular, and try changing things up a bit.
But, she couldn't complain if people liked making her job easier.
So it was with great enjoyment that she turned herself into a 95-pound projectile through the skylight of a crack den. With massive joy she uttered her battle cry, and with extreme confusion she landed among the glass on a stone floor not among the presence of the various scum and villainy of New York.
"What... the fuck?"
She stood and turned cautiously, balisong in one hand, out and balancing a .380 ACP across her wrist. Door, window, tapestries... where the fuck had she landed?
Hit Girl backed up against a wall and sidled to the window she'd jumped through, glancing out. She forgot herself and stared, shocked by how suddenly the landscape of New York had turned into the landscape of some woobie little kid's picture book, with rolling hills and big trees and other useless, ridiculous shit. What, had she blacked out and dropped into Central Park?
Frustrated, she did another circuit of the room, noticing finally the little table and chair, and the pen. She approached carefully, watching the pen... quill bob up and down. She glanced warily at the ceiling to catch whatever string was holding it up, and cautiously ran her balisong through the air above it.
Huh. No strings.
She stared at the bobbing pen a little longer, then holstered the .380, keeping the balisong at ready just in case, and leaned over to read the paper.
State your full name.
She scowled. Superheroes never, ever revealed their secret identity. Never mind that she had to Kick-Ass; he was too stupid to try betraying her again, however inadvertently.
"Hit Girl," she growled, and spinned the balisong around her fingers as she watched the pen move of it's own accord, taking down her words. Apparently this place, wherever it was, was balls-deep in the anus of weird.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
Hit Girl rolled her eyes at the paper, ignoring the futility of physical sarcasm at an inanimate object, and muttered "I like Kraft."
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Oh, hey, that was a question she didn't mind answering.
"Barney's too easy a target; he's too slow to run in that big suit. I'd hit Carrottop first, take him out quick and quiet like. He's strong, but muscles don't stop bullets." She snapped the balisong closed with a sadistic little grin. "All that shitty comedy is a damn crime, if you ask me."
3. What time is it where you are?
"Like Nine thirty," she scowled, "and I'm overdue to kill some assholes."
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
She did a double-take at the question, and read it back aloud to herself, incredulity growing in doubles as she did. "Who would I- What the fuck. I'm fucking eleven years old. Why the fuck would I want to sexually harass someone?" As long as you didn't count shooting gangsters while in a mildly provocative schoolgirl dress as sexual harassment, that wasn't her MO. Ever.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
She almost bitched about again: eleven, but stopped herself, and smiled just ever so slightly. "Big Daddy's," she said, "and it will be the darkest goddamn bar you could ever want."
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Hit Girl rolled her eyes again, and sighed. "Okay, I'm cool with the homo thing. I mean, Kick-Ass was like ninety percent gay and that's not the reason I think he's a useless cock, but if you can't make a choice on your own, I'm the last goddamn person you want to ask for advice." Her brand of advice being 'make a fucking decision or I'll stab your ass for being a moron.'
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
She snorted. "Paperwork is for mundanes. If you don't want paperwork, get another job."
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Hit Girl scowled, feeling more than a little personally offended at the implication that she might be in any way useless. Rather than let the pen answer, she swirled the balisong and used it to cut into the paper: 'I am Hit Girl. I can't see through walls, I can't fly, but I will kick your ass.'
That seemed good enough.
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
"Oh, for- god. Fine. Okay, I'll play this stupid ass game." She took one of the stun grenades from her belt, and set it on the table, followed by smoke, incendiary, and one traditional grenade. She didn't like giving up her toys, but it wasn't like she didn't have a surplus back home. As long as Marcus didn't look in her closet.
"I can spare those. No one touches my ammo, my guns, or my knives, or so fucking help me someone is going to get their ass kicked." Then she muttered under her breath, "stupid cunts."
At least there were no more questions. She crossed her arms and waited, her back to a corner, glancing between the door and the windows, waiting for all this jackassery to make sense.
After eleven years of being shot, beaten, stabbed, knocked around, and receiving general ass beatings for the Greater Good, Mindy Macready decided that six months of mundanity was way too fucking much.
She didn't learn how to be a goddamn superhero just so she could sit around and learn about American History.
Sure, the tiny, starved button of conscience she still retained shriveled at the thought of going back on her word and donning the mask, wig, and kevlar of Hit Girl, but there were bad guys out there, and Kick-Ass had retired is stupid cockgobbling ass to bang his gooey-eyed girlfriend. Red Mist, that failure of villainy, was still out there somewhere.
In her book, Big Daddy's ghost would not settle until everyone in the D'amico crime family was rotting in the river of shit. Hell, what's the worst that could happen? No ice cream for a week? No rottweiler for Christmas? She could deal, and so could Marcus, who really took the whole legal guardian thing a little too seriously.
Okay, so the worst that could happen was that she could die, but she didn't plan on doing that anytime soon, and she seriously doubted that Red Mist had the balls or the resources to take her out.
Finding lower-teir drug-runners was the ultimate in ease; they always gravitated to the same crappy apartments in the same ghetto neighborhoods. You think they'd learn, now that superheroing was starting to get more popular, and try changing things up a bit.
But, she couldn't complain if people liked making her job easier.
So it was with great enjoyment that she turned herself into a 95-pound projectile through the skylight of a crack den. With massive joy she uttered her battle cry, and with extreme confusion she landed among the glass on a stone floor not among the presence of the various scum and villainy of New York.
"What... the fuck?"
She stood and turned cautiously, balisong in one hand, out and balancing a .380 ACP across her wrist. Door, window, tapestries... where the fuck had she landed?
Hit Girl backed up against a wall and sidled to the window she'd jumped through, glancing out. She forgot herself and stared, shocked by how suddenly the landscape of New York had turned into the landscape of some woobie little kid's picture book, with rolling hills and big trees and other useless, ridiculous shit. What, had she blacked out and dropped into Central Park?
Frustrated, she did another circuit of the room, noticing finally the little table and chair, and the pen. She approached carefully, watching the pen... quill bob up and down. She glanced warily at the ceiling to catch whatever string was holding it up, and cautiously ran her balisong through the air above it.
Huh. No strings.
She stared at the bobbing pen a little longer, then holstered the .380, keeping the balisong at ready just in case, and leaned over to read the paper.
State your full name.
She scowled. Superheroes never, ever revealed their secret identity. Never mind that she had to Kick-Ass; he was too stupid to try betraying her again, however inadvertently.
"Hit Girl," she growled, and spinned the balisong around her fingers as she watched the pen move of it's own accord, taking down her words. Apparently this place, wherever it was, was balls-deep in the anus of weird.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
Hit Girl rolled her eyes at the paper, ignoring the futility of physical sarcasm at an inanimate object, and muttered "I like Kraft."
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Oh, hey, that was a question she didn't mind answering.
"Barney's too easy a target; he's too slow to run in that big suit. I'd hit Carrottop first, take him out quick and quiet like. He's strong, but muscles don't stop bullets." She snapped the balisong closed with a sadistic little grin. "All that shitty comedy is a damn crime, if you ask me."
3. What time is it where you are?
"Like Nine thirty," she scowled, "and I'm overdue to kill some assholes."
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
She did a double-take at the question, and read it back aloud to herself, incredulity growing in doubles as she did. "Who would I- What the fuck. I'm fucking eleven years old. Why the fuck would I want to sexually harass someone?" As long as you didn't count shooting gangsters while in a mildly provocative schoolgirl dress as sexual harassment, that wasn't her MO. Ever.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
She almost bitched about again: eleven, but stopped herself, and smiled just ever so slightly. "Big Daddy's," she said, "and it will be the darkest goddamn bar you could ever want."
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Hit Girl rolled her eyes again, and sighed. "Okay, I'm cool with the homo thing. I mean, Kick-Ass was like ninety percent gay and that's not the reason I think he's a useless cock, but if you can't make a choice on your own, I'm the last goddamn person you want to ask for advice." Her brand of advice being 'make a fucking decision or I'll stab your ass for being a moron.'
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
She snorted. "Paperwork is for mundanes. If you don't want paperwork, get another job."
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Hit Girl scowled, feeling more than a little personally offended at the implication that she might be in any way useless. Rather than let the pen answer, she swirled the balisong and used it to cut into the paper: 'I am Hit Girl. I can't see through walls, I can't fly, but I will kick your ass.'
That seemed good enough.
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
"Oh, for- god. Fine. Okay, I'll play this stupid ass game." She took one of the stun grenades from her belt, and set it on the table, followed by smoke, incendiary, and one traditional grenade. She didn't like giving up her toys, but it wasn't like she didn't have a surplus back home. As long as Marcus didn't look in her closet.
"I can spare those. No one touches my ammo, my guns, or my knives, or so fucking help me someone is going to get their ass kicked." Then she muttered under her breath, "stupid cunts."
At least there were no more questions. She crossed her arms and waited, her back to a corner, glancing between the door and the windows, waiting for all this jackassery to make sense.
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