Death's fingers were encrusted in heavy silver rings -- stylized skulls, a staring eyeball, a coffin-shaped poisoner's ring that he sometimes kept artificial sweetener in, an ankh, an alien head with insectile eyes -- and he balled his hands into fists, thinking of everything he'd ever read about throwing a punch without breaking your knuckles. *Get close. Keep your fist tight, thumb outside. Don't wind up or he'll see it coming.* He slowly turned over. The guy's eyes were in shadow. His belly heaved with each excited pant. From this angle, Death could see the guy had a gigantic boner. The thought of what that might bode sent him into overdrive. He couldn't afford to let this guy beat him up. He backed up to the rail that lined the walkway and pulled himself upright. He cowered in on himself as much as he could, hoping that the guy would close with him, so he could get in one good punch. He muttered indistinctly, softly, hoping to make the man lean in. His ring-encrusted hands gripped the railings. The guy took a step toward him. His lips were wet, his eyes shone. He had a hand in his pocket and Death realized that getting his attacker close in wouldn't be smart if he had a knife. The hand came out. It was pudgy and stub-fingered, and the fingernails were all gnawed down to the quick. Death looked at it. Spray-can. Pepper-spray? Mace? He didn't wait to find out. He launched himself off the railing at the fat man, going for his wet, whistling cave of a mouth. The man nodded as he came for him and let him paste one on him. Death's rings drew blood on the fat cheek and rocked the guy's head back a bit. The man stepped back and armed away the blood with his sleeve. Death was running for his car, hand digging into his pocket for his phone. He managed to get the phone out and his hand on the door handle before the fat man caught up, breathing heavily, air whistling through his nose. He punched Death in the mouth in a vastly superior rendition of Death's sole brave blow, a punch so hard Death's neck made a crackling sound as his head rocked away, slamming off the car's frame, ringing like a gong. Death began to slide down the car's door, and only managed to turn his face slightly when the man sprayed him with his little aerosol can. Mace. Death's breath stopped in his lungs and his face felt as if he'd plunged it into boiling oil. His eyes felt worse, like dirty fingers were sandpapering over his eyeballs. He choked and fell over and heard the man laugh. Then a boot caught him in the stomach and while he was doubled over, it came down again on his skinny shin. The sound of the bone breaking was loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the blood in his ears. He managed to suck in a lungful of air and scream it out, and the boot connected with his mouth, kicking him hard and making him bite his tongue. Blood filled his mouth. A rough hand seized him by the hair and the rasping breath was in his ears.