For the most part she’s a specter, a bedtime story the gangs tell themselves to keep shit level but every so often somebody remembers that she’s meat like anyone else and then Tits Akimbo has to remind these jokers how shit gets DONE.
“I ain’t scared of you, Tits,” sneers the latest chucklehead, some hardfaced dropout from Japan. “I’m gonna leave you in so many pieces they’ll have to bury you in a tea strainer.”
“You sweet-talker, you,” grins Tits, and spits the cherry end of the joint out on the floor. A circle opens up in the crowd and the whole bar goes silent except for the yowling of the cats in the pit. “Let’s see what you learned in prep school.”
It doesn’t take very long. She’s a fucking ARTISAN with that knife. She wipes the blade clean on the wreckage before turning back to the fight. Someone else will clean up the mess, and she’s got money riding on the mean tabby. She doesn’t have to pay for a drink the whole rest of the night, though it’s not like she was planning to, anyway.