Holy crap! More Hellcat stories!
Woohoo!
Well, guess what? This one's a chapter story. :O
It'll likely be shorter than the original trilogy, but here it is. :D Another difference is that Adam will be more of the focus here.
"Wait, wait, wait: I made this series, bitch! You're not going to focus on me?!"
Shut up, Hellcat. You'll still be involved.
"…I will? Carry on, then."
…Anyways…
Heads up: It's rated T for a reason: Cussing, lewd commentary, demons, so on. If you haven't read any of the Hybrid series – and, less importantly, the one shot Hangover – you'll be lost. The National Guard won't find you. Ever. You'll be one of those missing persons that's presumed dead.
Kinda.
Oh well.
Anywho, if you get a bit lost, you might want to re-read chapter five of Hunter. I might have mentioned how the Lab Rats came to be motherless with Douglas there. And, here, we explore it more. Woo!
So let's get on with it! Hmm…Douglas?
"Zara doesn't own Lab Rats or anything you recognize. If you don't recognize it, it's probably hers."
"Do one thing every day that scares you."
Eleanor Roosevelt
"A winning effort begins with preparation."
Joe Gibbs
Ra'Zara the First proudly presents Hazy.
Douglas
Stupid business suit.
He looked like a crotchety, stuck-up asshat. A sexy asshat, but an asshat, nonetheless. As awesome as he was, he just wasn't at home on an actual stage when it mattered what he said. Usually, he could do what he wanted. Today, though, he couldn't. Everything he did reflected on Davenport Industries and, by proxy, his very job.
He fidgeted a bit, wishing for what had to be the twentieth time that Yahn had been allowed to come. The little imp liked to stay in his pocket as a mouse or gerbil when Douglas was anxious. It may have been a small thing - and, honestly, a bit childish - but Douglas missed being able to pet Yahn to soothe himself. Nothing like a childhood guardian to calm one's nerves, right? But Donnie had insisted that no demons accompanied them, so Yahn had stayed in the crowd with the rest of the family.
It made little sense to Douglas. Oly was his mischief buddy. Yahn was more of an advisor. More than that, he was a reassuring familiarity in intimidating situations.
Donald nudged Douglas with his elbow while straightening his tie. "Hold still," he hissed, keeping his voice low. "We're speaking to investors, not kings."
"A couple hundred investors," Douglas countered immediately. "And I've yelled at the queen of England before. I'd take that over this in a heartbeat."
Donnie glanced at him, eyes wide. "You yelled at the queen of England?!"
"Got deported, too," Douglas responded.
"When was this?"
Douglas smirked a bit. "I was twenty-three. Not sure if I can legally visit England now, so consider that before you plan a business trip to London or something like that."
Donald sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slightly. "For the love of..."
Douglas bit back a laugh as a random stagehand approached them. He was visibly stressed, undoubtedly driven mad by the effort to ensure that everything ran smoothly. "You two are next," he informed them, looking at a clipboard. "Just wait until your names are announced before you go out. And put these on." The man shoved two little clip on microphones into Douglas' hands. Then, without a single wish of luck - or any courtesy, really - the man turned and almost ran away, anxiously searching for the next victim as Donald took one of the devices from Douglas' hand.
Douglas felt a fresh wave of nerves overtake him as he clipped his microphone to his lapel. What if he messed up? What if they didn't like the idea? What if no one funded them?
He was going to be sick. Where was an open bar when he needed it? A shot of whiskey for courage would've been great right then.
Donald gently brought his hand down on Douglas' shoulder, causing him to jump a bit. "You'll be fine," he assured. "How many times have you annoyed the kids to practice this presentation?"
They now avoided Douglas like he carried the plague. Chase even mouthed along when he had the misfortune of being caught without an escape route. Douglas nodded slowly. He could do this.
He was Douglas.
He could do this!
From the stage, Douglas heard a muffled announcement: "Now, representing Davenport Industries, please welcome Donald and Douglas Davenport!"
He couldn't do this!
However, as the crowd broke into polite applause, Donnie was pressing his hand hard into the hollow between Douglas' shoulders. "Behave," he hissed between his teeth, but his grin never faltered as he discreetly pushed his younger brother on stage.
"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."
George Bernard Shaw
"A people without the knowledge of their history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots."
Marcus Garvey
Chase
Douglas was pale.
Muffled laughing sounded from my shirt pocket, followed by a quiet observation. "Master looks ready to piss himself!"
"Be nice, Oly," I whispered back, fighting down an inappropriate laugh at her comment. She was right, of course: Douglas looked like he had no business being on stage.
Maybe he wasn't as great at acting as he thought he was. Public speaking sure seemed to be a problem.
Tasha gently nudged me with her elbow, shushing me. Making sure that I looked chastised, I turned my full focus back to the stage. Now that the applause was dying down, Mr. Davenport was taking his place at center stage. A few more seconds passed before he finally started speaking. "I'm sure you've heard this a lot today, but allow me to, once again, thank you for coming. This has been an exciting year for Davenport Industries. We are currently making breakthroughs in the fields of neurology, space travel, and global defense against rogue meteors." At this, everyone politely applauded.
Now, me being me, this whole conference about new technologies was highly fascinating. However, my side had begun to itch fiercely a couple of presentations ago, so I was hoping that Mr. Davenport and Douglas kept it short so that I could go home and assume my usual form. They were next to last, anyways, and Douglas' presentation wasn't too long. Assuming that no one asked too many questions, they would be off the stage in about ten minutes.
However, watching Douglas stand on stage by the projected image of the final blue prints for his cyborg hand was a decent trade for a bit of pain. He looked ready to pass out. It was hilarious. Judging by Adam's expression as he watched, absently stroking Yahn's head - said imp had taken the form of a gecko and had poked his head out of Adam's shirt pocket - I probably wouldn't be the only one giving Douglas hell for it, either.
He was so arrogant all of the time that we just couldn't pass that opportunity up. The great Douglas Davenport was afraid of investors. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Once the clapping died down, Mr. Davenport began again. "However, what we're presenting today will revolutionize prosthetic limbs. Imagine a cyborg hand that you can move like a normal hand without a second thought." A murmur of curiosity went through the crowd. Mr. Davenport waited for a second before he continued. "I'm going to let the head of research and development on this project explain more about this. Douglas?" Mr. Davenport glanced back at Douglas, who remained where he was like he had been chained there, his eyes wide with fear.
Of all the things he could have done, he had to pick the worst: Freezing. As much as I wanted to laugh, I felt a bit sorry for him. Now Douglas was going to catch flak from Mr. Davenport for embarrassing him, too. Poor guy.
Beside me, Tasha whispered, "Is he all right?"
I shrugged. To be honest, Douglas looked like he was about to puke.
On the other side of Adam, Bree rolled her eyes and pulled a bobby pin and thin hair band out of her hair, causing the low ponytail her hair had been fashioned in to disintegrate around her shoulders. She widened the bobby pin and looped the band around her middle and index finger to form a crude sling shot.
I hope that hurts, my voice hissed gleefully.
I hope it snaps him out of it, I responded, watching as Bree hooked the bobby pin on the band, pulling it back and aiming as if it were a crossbow.
On stage, Mr. Davenport looked desperate. "Douglas?" he urged, keeping his now-strained smile plastered across his face.
Douglas didn't move. I wondered if he even knew that someone was talking to him.
Bree released the pin, the band twanging softly as it launched the makeshift missile towards the stage. A split-second later, Douglas yelped and jumped a bit, his hand flying to his shoulder. However, that seemed to work, because he launched into his speech as if the last few seconds hadn't happened. It was a good thing he had practiced it so much, because he spoke flawlessly, explaining everything and gesturing at the projection as if he was the most relaxed person in the world.
It was shocking what a bit of preparation would do.
Mr. Davenport appeared very relieved as Douglas went on. At least Douglas was redeeming himself a bit.
As for us, I could tell that the entire family unit - though appearing interested - had completely checked out. Adam's eyes were distant as he rubbed Yahn's small back. Bree was trying to salvage her ponytail as discreetly as she could. Leo was visibly impatient, going so far as to tap his foot rapidly, causing the mouse-shaped lump in his pocket to stir a bit. Poor Ysthry. Tasha almost nodded off herself, having to occasionally shake her head to ward off the boredom-induced exhaustion. We all had the misfortune of hearing it several times over already. No, I was interested in the question portion. He had to be spontaneous, which was always fun to watch.
Which was why I perked up a bit when Douglas finally gave the invitation.
"Are there any questions?"
A guy in the back decided to go first. "How do we even know this will work? Is there a prototype?"
Douglas deadpanned at the man before rolling his right sleeve back. Carefully, he detached his fake hand - my eyes were drawn to the small metal pieces embedded in his skin to help keep the thing from falling off - and held it up. "Trust me; it works."
The statement set of a chorus of impressed murmurs and polite laughing as he reattached his hand and righted his sleeve, wiggling his fingers a bit. About this time, another investor decided to speak up. "When can we expect to see this in mass production?"
Mr. Davenport had the answer for him. "We're hoping to have these on the market around summer of next year."
More murmurs of consideration. Then, a woman asked the next question. "Is this limited to hands?"
Douglas frowned and leaned forward, squinting a bit at the lady who asked. After a few long, silent seconds, he tilted his head. "We're working on other limbs, as well. Blueprints are already drawn up for..." He trailed off, his face lighting up with surprise and recognition, followed by a bit of apprehension and - oddly - controlled anger.
Mr. Davenport took over, finishing for Douglas, who wouldn't stop staring at the woman. "As he was saying, we already have blueprints for legs, full arms, individual fingers, and so on. We aren't focusing only on hands."
A few more questions were asked, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. Instead, I was watching Douglas. He kept glancing at the woman who had unsettled him somehow. I poked the small lump in my pocket. "Oly, who is that?" I whispered.
Oly shifted a bit, her mouse paw poking me in the chest once as she stuck her head out of the top of my pocket and followed Douglas' look. "No idea," she answered. "An ex-lover, perhaps?"
It was hard to imagine Douglas ever having the patience for a girlfriend. It just didn't seem to be in his nature.
He did have three kids, though. We had to come from somewhere, right? We didn't just magically appear one day.
Whoa, backtrack, backtrack! My mind started supplying various images that were very unpleasant to behold. I pulled a disgusted, horrified face, which caught Tasha's attention. She looked at me quizzically and patted my hand gently while I shuddered. Curse you, brain!
Still, the question remained: Where was our mother? Was Douglas married at one point? Was that woman involved somehow? Or was she a random ex-girlfriend, like Oly suggested?
I had never thought to ask about any of this.
As Mr. Davenport and Douglas finally exited the stage - a few people, including the woman, got up to leave, too - I sighed. One more presentation, and I could talk to him.
"...Everything I can't remember, as fucked up as it all may seem. The consequences that I've rendered: I've gone and fucked things up again..."
Staind, "It's Been Awhile"
"I am very protective of my family."
Christa Miller
Douglas
Once they had removed their microphones and handed them to the stagehand, Donnie smacked the back of Douglas' head. "What's wrong with you?! Do you know how many investors deny funding based on how well the presentation went?"
Douglas absently rubbed the back of his head, only half-listening. His mind, however, was focused on her.
Sandra Pike.
He never thought he'd see her again. He never wanted to see that bitch again.
Donald snapped his fingers right in front of Douglas' eyes. "Are you even listening?"
Douglas swatted Donald's hand away. "I have bigger things to worry about that a couple of investors right now," he snapped.
"What could possibly be more important?" Donnie rolled his eyes. "That one woman you want to seduce in the audience?"
"That wasn't it!" Douglas felt his face heat up, though. "If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. Besides, I kind of already had a shot with her. I don't want a repeat."
Donald frowned. "Then what's your problem?"
Douglas swallowed hard. "That bitch is Adam's mother."
Realization made Donald's hard expression soften a bit. "Are you sure?"
Douglas wanted to backhand his brother. "I think I'd remember the woman who left my own son on my porch in the middle of the god-damned night, Don!"
Donald raised his hands defensively. "Relax, Dougie. It was just a question."
Douglas bit back a retort, sighing instead. "What does she want?" he muttered to himself.
However, Donald overheard. "She is an investor. Her being here is likely a coincidence."
The glare Douglas sent Donald's way could have withered flowers. He didn't want Donnie to play the advising older brother right then. He wanted someone to support him in his anger.
Donald crossed his arms. "Don't look at me like that. This whole thing was invite only. It wasn't like she saw Davenport Industries and decided to show up."
"But now that she's here..."
Donald rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting."
Why did they have to be in public? Douglas wanted to throw a punch at Donald, and he knew that the urge would dissipate before they got to a place where he could act on the impulse. Life just wasn't fair.
Douglas' rational side knew that Donald was right, though. She likely wasn't in the audience for any reason other than scouting opportunities that might turn a profit. For all he knew, she wouldn't remember him. As long as she kept her distance, everything would be fine.
That didn't make him feel any better, though. What if she did recognize him? Would she try to take Adam? Did she even care? Probably not. She had left a signed certificate of abandonment with Adam on the porch. Suppose she regretted it now?
Douglas ground his teeth. Sandra wasn't going to get within twenty feet of Adam. He wasn't going to let her.
*Gasp* She's back!
What'll happen?!
Guess you'll have to wait to find out.
Anyways, feel free to review. Or don't. As always, I don't give a crap. :P
And, of course, enjoy.
*Bows and exits*