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Gina didn't like the look that he wore, so contradictory to his words. Now came the part where the cat toyed with the mouse, prior to killing it-- Gina listened to him, this time, his words swimming as if this were indeed a dream.

>> "See, you could do that, but then that leaves the problem of me not getting paid--"

He flashed his blade at Gina, to which the gargoyle squinted, and kept the shovel tightly grasped in her hands. Oh, so he was getting paid to kill her--? She supposed that made it better than if he were killing another mutant on his own fruition. Pity, though-- it didn't change the fact that he was going to kill her.

>> "--And I highly doubt you have enough money to pay for your life. Besides, even if you did have the money, where would the... "fun" be in that?"

Gina frowned, stepping back as the lion-headed man drew closer. Her brow furrowed. He'd been paid a lot to kill her, more money that Gina had towards her name... or, if she did have the money, what would the sport be in letting her live? So, the compromise was a bust.

"That's a shame," Gina commented. She didn't say what was a shame, for this whole situation was looking pretty grim. If she died, then it would be a shame that she did so, if she lived, then it would be a shame that the lion-headed man wasn't going to get his money. Either way, someone lost.

>> “Don’t worry sweetheart-- I can make it fast. It only hurts for a second…”

"That makes me feel a lot better," Gina grumbled, managing a sarcastic tone despite her slipping focus. She rose her shovel, trying to ignore her hammering heart, her quivering hands. Her body language said anything but surrender. Her tail flicked as if she were the one waiting to pounce, and she sank lower to the ground, lowering her center of gravity. She didn't taunt him or tell him to bring it on, she just looked at the lion-headed man with a steady gaze, which was so intent, she might have almost seemed lucid. Whether she lived or died was irrelevant-- all that mattered was that, if she went, she went out with a fight.

Given the situation, she dodged the rocks rather well-- she was woozy from blood loss, in pain, scared, and going into shock. Now, if anyone could have flied as well as she did while having all of that going against them, then they deserved to be nominated for an award. But even the best essentially-drunk flying was blatantly sub-standard to flying when all of your wits were about you.

Even so, that didn't help the fact that there were a lot of rocks, of about the cobble-size, that were being heaved in Gina's direction. Thankfully, Gina was watching the lion-headed man while she taunted him, so she saw the attack coming. The lion-headed man scooped the rocks up in his gorilla arm and slung them at Gina. He yelled, bared his fangs, and snapped the throw.

That put a little more pep in Gina's flying, her drowsy eyes going wide. She tilted to the side, in an attempt to dodge, but she wasn't faster than the fastest rocks. One well-sized stone clipped her wing, another hit her knee, and she lost her balance. A lot of balance was required in flight, and if it were interrupted, it was easy to fall. Gina wobbled, her wings reflexively pulling inward against the blows. The new pain was enough to snap her out of it, for a moment, but none too soon. She came to an uneasy stop on the ground, turning to face the lion-headed man.

He was too close, now-- too close for Gina to take off again and clear the ground, without him getting a hold of her tail and jerking her back down. She didn't take off that quickly. And, the blood loss was wearing her out-- she wouldn't last much longer if she was going to flee from him on foot. Gina was really glad that she'd grabbed the shovel, now. She still didn't know what exactly she'd do with it, but she'd think of something. Gina heaved a shaky sigh, shifting her grip on the shovel slightly. Maybe she could hit him in his feline face with it? That'd distract him. Or, it would just piss him off more... what if he grabbed the shovel and she didn't lay a blow on him at all? What then?

"I don't s'pose you'll want a compromise, would you?" Gina inquired, raising her voice as she addressed the lion-faced man. Her options weren't looking very favorable, so it was to propose compromises, "I could, y'know, 'Run away and never come back'?" Yes, she was still out of it. And now, she was quoting Lion King at the lion-faced man. Even in her stupor, she didn't expect him to agree, but as always, it was worth a shot.

His shout went unheard, for Gina was too busy trying to flee from him.

A wheelbarrow stood not too far off, against which, a variety of tools were propped. Gina grabbed the first gardening tool that she could get a hold of, a long-handeled shovel, and her shoulder twinged at the sudden effort. She sucked air in through her breath, and kept running. What she would do with the shovel, Gina wasn’t too sure—but, anything was better than being unarmed against a lion-headed guy with a massive knife.

Behind her, garden features were decimated by the stampeding man, the sounds of wood splintering and statues fracturing growing closer and closer-- he was gaining, but how quickly? Gina glanced over her shoulder to see, and her head swam with the sudden motion. She couldn't see him, but boy, could she hear him-- he sounded like a freight train. When she glanced over her shoulder, she spied the bloodstain, and had the dull realization that that was a lot of blood... too much, really.

With that thought in mind, Gina leapt, flying a few, short wingbeats into the top of a willow tree. It had been sheared of its cascading branches, leaving its ugly, bald branches grasping skywards. These made for perfect perches. Gina paused there, trapping the shovel between her clawed foot and the naked tree branch, while her hands numbly undid the scarf around her neck. Biting past the pain, she looped it around her arm and then pulled it up to where her arm connected with her torso. Using her teeth and her opposite hand, she tightened a knot there. And, for safe measure, looped it around and tied another knot. Gina wasn’t very knowledgeable in first aid, but her makeshift bandage would have to suffice. By now, she could see the lion-headed man on his approach, and Gina once again took the shovel up in her hand.

Rather than go down to the ground, Gina opted to fly, but kept below the tree-line, at about twenty feet off of the ground. She was still convinced that the sniper was up in the buildings, waiting for her, and that the lion-headed man was just trying to drive her out into the open, so that the shooter could line up a better shot that did the job. Thus, Gina flew low, her flight-path pointed towards the gate.

The lion-headed man was too close now, only a good 200 yards off and steadily gaining, so it wouldn't have be the wisest idea to attempt running once again.

Gina caught herself wishing that this were just some big, elaborate joke, or perhaps a nasty dream. Even now, her head began swimming and she felt disoriented, just as one in a waking dream might. But, unlike in a dream, her wounds actually hurt. Gina was cold, her whole body quivering restlessly from the frigid adrenaline that ran through her veins. Sickness simmered in her stomach, and she found her mind struggling to form coherent thoughts. She most certainly was not asleep, nor was she dreaming this, however appealing the idea seemed.

Had she been more cognizant, or even mildly knowledgeable of First Aid, she might have realized that she was steadily going into shock from the blood loss, and that her clock was ticking until she passed out. Gina didn’t realize any of this. She only knew that she felt awful, and had to get out of the park fast, if she wanted to get to safety. And, she had to get away from the lion-headed man.

She looked down at the lion-headed man below, who was now only a good one hundred yards behind her, and sporting a disproportionately large gorilla arm. In her stupor, she gave a short, unbalanced chuckle—fancy that, a man with a lion’s head and a gorilla arm! Boy, was he certainly a confused character—

Gina’s grip tightened on the shovel, her laugh quickly forming a hard frown when she realized that he was still coming closer to her. The lion-headed man couldn’t get her up here, right? Or could he sprout wings, too? The dread that washed over her with that thought urged Gina upward, wings mechanically taking in more air. Her gaze dropped again, the motion once again disorienting her. The pain had become familiar, now, so she tried to muscle through it.

“Go home!” she urged the lion-faced man, her words coming out in a bit of a slur because of her jumbled thoughts, “No lion… gorilla… people allowed!” What she really meant was to say her mantra for the evening, which was, ‘Stay away from me.’ But, when Gina realized that she hadn’t actually said that, she simply gave one of her unbalanced chuckles, and kept flying.

Gina closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut it all out—the sight of her own blood, which was flowering nicely from the tear in her shoulder, the pain that went with it, the fear that racked her body, and the lion-headed man who was behind it all. If she just stayed still, if she was as quiet as a mouse, he’d leave, and she’d be free to run.

And then, he started talking—he had such an awful, frightening voice. Ominously and sickeningly sweet like, a peach left too long in the sun. He taunted her, haunted her, with his tones.

>> “You’re close, aren’t you? Come on out, hunny.”

Gina tried not to listen, tried to ignore him. He was just toying with her head, trying to get her psyched out. Gina choked on a sob, gritting her teeth against it and stifling it with her scarf. He had already gotten to her, and it wasn’t even the fact that he’d called her a “demon”. It was the fact that he was painting his killing her to be a merciful thing, as if she deserved to die.

Even in her terror, Gina disagreed. Her life had been pretty good thus far, and she intended to keep on living it.

A dark silence fell once again, as he paused at the roof’s edge, gaze trained on a blood stain. His eyes then lifted, and their gazes locked.

>> “Gotcha.”

It took every fibre of Gina’s person not to get sick right then. She felt like the mouse in a game of cat-and-mouse, cornered against a wall. The lion’s grinning face only served to solidify the mental image.

“No—you stay away from ME!” Gina yelled. There was no point in being quiet, now that she’d been spotted. Her voice was raw with fear, and sorrow, and rage. Yes, rage—through the fearful film of tears, the flecks of amber within her eyes smoldered like a fire—how dare he even contemplate stealing the life that was her own! Though she was frightened, and wounded, the fire in her eyes made one point blatantly obvious—she wasn’t going down without a fight. Gina was determined to get out of this alive, “You stay away from me, you traitor!”

It was an immature insult, insinuating that by killing another mutant, the lion-headed man was betraying his very own genetic predisposition. By trying to kill Gina, he was breaking some unspoken loyalty to his own kind.

That being said, Gina literally sprung into action, vaulting over the crest of the roof and onto the other side of the rooftop. In doing so, Gina bought herself time—Cat-Face would have to circle the entire building, she would only have to descend down from the roof. Rather than scoot down slowly, Gina slid, claws out, down the metal surfacing. And, when she reached the edge, she leapt, breaking into a run when her feet hit the ground. She had to be quick, because she had another mutant on her tail, whose stride was definitely longer, and quite possibly a sniper still setting his sights on her (as far as she still knew).

Gina sprinted into the garden, carefully picking over overgrown plants, her little legs flying in an all-out sprint. She realized that, if she couldn’t outrun the man, she’d have to take him on—a face-off that would be most unfair if she didn’t have some sort of weapon of her own.

But, this was nothing but a rundown botanical garden, not an armory—the only things here were overgrown plants and gardening tools, from cutting the plants back and digging them up, not weapons…

An idea donned on Gina, and she quickly altered courses, not only towards the front gate, but towards an area of the garden that she knew to be in the process of being unearthed. The chances that any of her harebrained ideas would work? Still slim. But, she’d been a pretty lucky lady thus far, so Gina figured that there wasn’t any harm in pressing her luck once again.

Gina's heart hammered so loudly that the pumping of her blood was all that she could hear rushing in her ears, and it filled her entirety. Gina shivered against the cold, metal roof. She scarcely breathed, only watched as the man hacked his way through the jungle of overgrown plants towards the information booth where Gina had been hiding moments earlier.

He wore a devilish little grin as he drew closer, before he slipped out of view, sandwiching himself to the kiosk. Gina shrank lower on the roof as the man slipped back into view, drawing closer to the entrance of the kiosk.

A pause, then an angry yell. Gina blanched, her shoulder spasming painfully. Silence fell again, then there was a fantastic rustling. The silence that followed was crushing. What was going on?

A figure exited, which from the waist-down, still seemed human. The face and neck, however, were contorted from that of the man who had entered the booth... what was that? It tilted its head back and--

RRRWWWOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!![/i]

A lion head? But... an ugly old man had walked in there... what the heck was with the anthropomorphic lion? There was only one logical answer--

Mutant.

And, he was tracking her, sights set on the building. If Gina weren't so terrified, she'd be indignant with injustice. She'd had her fair share of run-ins with mutant-haters, but to be hunted by one of your own kind? Unheard of.

Gina was frozen, her wounded shoulder still spasming, as the lion-headed man closed in quickly. She couldn't go down, or if she did, not without a fight. How many people were hunting her? One, two? More? Fear of getting shot kept her from taking to the skies, and in the moments that had passed, the man reached the building.

Good God, Cat-Face, don't look up. Please, Gina prayed, small form immobile, yet tensed and ready to bolt. She didn't breath, didn't move-- even her tears had frozen in fear. Go away, don't look up.

Okay. That was by far the most he'd spoken thus far. And, the sad part was, that it was all gibberish to Gina. She understood Lovecraft-- he was an author who wrote spacy books, right? There was a program like that in the danger room. Her mental voice took on the tone of a hippy leftover from the 70's as it declared, 'Far out, dude...' And, of course, outwardly, Gina just stared while Locke spoke. And stared some more. Computer programs made just about as much sense as Chinese to Gina, which was absolutely no sense at all.

Gina did her best to refrain from laughing, but she did smile. Not condescendingly, but in a confused 'I've-got-no-idea-what-this-kid's-saying,' sort of way. He was already shyly clamming himself up with another slice of pizza, so laughing more would probably send the boy into a bout of mutism.

"Geometry?" Gina echoed. Well, Geometry was a math-- or a logic. Locke probably meant to ask what you did in Geometry, not what it was. Gina meandered over to the couch and sat on its arm, taking on a contemplative look, "It's a math where you work with shapes, and graphing, and shape- or graph- related equations. But, mostly-" her face took on a haunted look, brown-eyes going wide with mock-terror. Her voice no more than an ominous whisper, she informed Locke, "We do proofs. Proofs are the centerfold of Geometry, and they're pure evil. You have to essentially prove that you can do certain mathematical things using these predetermined rules." Gina shuddered, "Pure evil."