It was on this window ledge that a woman was seated, eyes closed, face to the gentle caress of the wind.
Her bright purple hair and facial piercings were the norm for the lunch time crowd. But of a night the affluence of the diners increased and dinner prices changed accordingly, causing the students and tech workers to seek out more affordable alternatives.
The only reason nobody commented on either her appearance or lack of custom was because nobody noticed her. It was her nature to pass unperceived through the city as she and her sisters observed its occupants.
It was certain that the arrogant bastard at the table in the back would have been quite vocal in his displeasure at someone of her apparent social standing daring to grace his presence. He'd managed to verbally assault every member of staff in earshot and several customers had already elected to take the remains of their meals home rather than have him further ruin their dinner.
One brave soul had requested that the man tone down his language and had been screamed at, the man's gutteral, heavily accented voice putting paid to any further attempts to chastise his behaviour. As far as he was concerned, he earned more money than everyone in the restaurant combined, and he felt that entitled him to treat everyone around him as if they were his property. He seemed to have no idea that nobody else shared his sentiments. If the unusually high turnover of staff at his own business hadn't managed to clue him in to his lack of people skills, it was unlikely that an elderly matron's polite entreaty would cause a sudden bout of soul searching.
The young waitress, the chef's daughter, who had been working in the restaurant for years, had been reduced to tears in five minutes. Apparently her appearance wasn't up to the toxic customer's standards.
After the almost non-stop verbal barrage, it caught the attention of the woman in the window at the surprising quiet. It seemed that all the other customers had departed and the staff had retreated out to the relative safety of the kitchen, leaving Sunny Jim with no one in range to torture.
Smiling to herself, the woman uncoiled from her perch and walked to the man's table. With a quick flourish, the scalpel blades embedded in her fingertips had done their work. She was out the door before the man even reacted to the pain.
The staff ran from the kitchen in response to high-pitched shrieks of pain. Freezing in shock at the sight of the man's face. He held his hands out in supplication, blood coating the fingers he was staring at in terror.
The still teary-eyed waitress wondered if he would ever abuse another person over their appearance again, when his own had been so drastically altered by the slashes that had been carved in each of his cheeks. Maybe, maybe not.
Razor girls didn't often opt for such slight methods of social castigation, it was unlikely he would survive a second encounter with one of the creatures.
15minuteficlets — word #61: aggravation
Part of the RazorGirl!verse