As I promised, this is the continuance of the Guardian series with the Avengers. August, of course, wanted her chance to have her say.
August had definitely had enough of this saving the world bullshit. After nearly draining all of her power reserves to save Claire, she considered her end of the bargain complete. Not that many of the team put up any kind of fight. Only Claire had asked her to stay-the rest, she knew, were probably glad to be rid of her. The big man in black watched her lug her bag out of the shiny building in the city with his one eye, unblinking when August shot him a sarcastic salute.
She had been busy during her short stint at Council Headquarters. Her files were ridiculously easy to access and even more ridiculously easy to cipher. The Council used an encryption on everything and years spent in their prison had taught her the majority of their lingo. She snatched up her record and spent a few nights combing through it while trying to keep a low profile. Claire kept trying to drag her into things, and even though August loved the thrill of the fight more than anything, she despised the heroic nobility of her fellow fighters.
Saving the world was thankless and bloody. It stripped away the humanity until decisions started to be made in terms of collateral damage as opposed to what was right. August inwardly sneered at the political games being played around her while she waited for the chance to escape. It didn't take long after the Gate was confined within Claire's dark magic for August to find that chance.
Carrying with her the deed to her parent's property in the mountains, August informed Claire that she was leaving and wouldn't be back. Without further ceremony, she headed out. Intent on hitchhiking back home, August was grateful for the warming weather. She liked heat all around her, the magic inside her body growing restless in the cold. The journey would be so much easier if she didn't have to expel a burst of power every few hours.
The morning was bright as she made her way to the main interstate. August knew the way home, had studied a map for hours to make sure she had the quickest route. Her backpack swung behind her with each step, patting her hips and upper thighs. The thing was half as old as she was and desperately needed replacing. She found that her sentiment for the bag kept her from tossing it. Her mother had bought it for her just before starting her last year of elementary school. It was her 'big girl bag' and was, at the time, as large as her entire torso. She wore it proudly, though, the pink and green colors reflecting brightly at the hooks at the back of the classroom.
Since her parents' death, she had kept her most precious items stored in the pack, ready for her to grab at a moment's notice. As she walked along the pavement, it still held her one picture of them and her mother's tea tin. Everything else had been lost or destroyed over the years. Looping her hands over the straps, August hummed a little under her breath, picking up her pace. The further away from the other Guardians she got, the better she would be. They were a complication, a nuisance that distracted her from getting back to her own doings. August wanted nothing to do with the darkness and the search for the villain behind the magic of the Gate. She wanted nothing to do with Claire or, for Christ's sake, the company she was teaming up with. They were all secret keepers and August was tired of dealing with it.
Hopping down onto an overpass, August squared her shoulders and stuck out her thumb. She was going home and that would be the end of it. After about twenty minutes of alternating between standing and walking, August got a bite. The driver was a young, professional looking woman who could take her as far as the outskirts of town. She looked at August with a piteous expression that made August itch. When they pulled to an awkward stop, the woman offered her ten dollars and a granola bar. August took the offerings without guilt or shame even though she had pilfered a whole box of Lucky Charms and a high tech Stark Industries water bottle with a built in filtration on her way out.
The next car to pick her up took an hour of waiting. August filled the time thinking about what she would do once she got back home. The property had been vacant for many years and would likely need repairs. She could busy herself with that while she applied for jobs in town three miles away. Without a driver's license or work experience she would have to do something menial. August kind of liked the idea of working as a waitress or stocking shelves. It would be a nice break from the rapid pace of the prison and the whole running for her life situation. She could be normal for a while so that she could think on what she wanted to do with her freedom. Her revenge upon the Council had been taken from her by the darkness and she was unceremoniously left without a purpose.
After making it across the state border with the elderly couple in their RV, August settled in for the night in the hollow of a tree. Prison had taught her to burrow deep and stick there in safety until the sun came up. It was always better to have your back covered than to be left in the open. She used her back pack as a pillow, nibbling on the cereal while she watched the moon rise. Without the lights of the city, August could make out some of the stars. Her father taught her where to find Orion before he died, but the Archer wouldn't be visible until the wee hours and August needed to sleep if she was going to make it through the long winding roads of the desert the next day.
She dropped off thinking about plumbing and dreamt of the last time she saw the house. It was small, one bedroom and one bath. Her great grandfather had built it with his own hands. August had slept in front of the fireplace on a feather ticking that was five generations old. Her mother would tell her about the patches and where they came from. A cousin's old church dress, the curtains from her aunt's first home, the overalls her father had worn to the bone. It was a tapestry of their family and August often remembered how safe she felt nestled in its mass. That was, until the Council had come for her.
August was, in her mother's words, a little 'touched'. She could manipulate things and spin magic from a young age. Undisciplined, August had accidentally knocked over the Church's giant cross one day out of anger. From then on, the town had been on edge. After being released from school, August's parents kept her at home and tried to tame her skills. In vain, they attempted to hide her from prying eyes, but they could no more keep her inside than they could keep the occasional avalanches down the mountain at bay.
The Council sought her out, asked her questions and praised her skill. August's ego made her think that they loved her for the little tricks she did in their tiny living room. It never occurred to her to be scared of them, that they might want to use her for their own agenda. And when they offered to take her to school and teach her more, August had begged to go. Her parents relented on the condition that she come home for vacations. It was a promise she'd kept until the darkness found her out and slaughtered them. She hadn't been home since.
The morning was crisp and very nearly cold. Winter was easing into Spring and the frost was turning to dew. August crawled out from the tree hollow and made her way back to the main road. She would be able to get a couple miles in before the morning traffic kicked in. Three hours later, she was climbing into the cab of a semi next to a portly old man. His radio played only country music and there was a spit cup in between the seats. He could take her across the desert into the plains, but would then be heading south. August chatted with him a little and reassured him that she was perfectly capable of traveling on her own. The old man kept glancing at her in worry as they neared her exit. August kept her gaze on the road and pretended that she didn't notice.
The diner where she stepped off the rig was mediocre at best, but the coffee was hot and she could have as much maple syrup as she wanted with her waffles. She paid her tab with the ten dollars that the young professional had given her and stalked off into the fading light. Perfectly aware of the eyes that followed her, August tightened the straps on her pack. She kept her head down to hide the smile. It would be an easy fight.
They hadn't been drinking, which allowed August to think of them as fair game. Without the fog of alcohol, she could be sure that the three men following her into the rising darkness were fully aware of what they were doing. What they couldn't possibly know was how wrong they were in their choice of target. She kept her pace moderate and moved steadily into the shadows away from the diner and the surrounding streetlights. There would be no need for witnesses at this particular showdown.
When August was sure that she was far enough away, she cast a glance backwards, feigning anxiety. The men were dressed casually in t-shirts and jeans. One was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. It didn't take long for the catcalling to start, little kisses to the air and long whistles. August picked up her pace marginally, counting to fifteen before looking back again. The group was gaining ground, but wasn't advancing quickly upon her. August sneered to herself as she realized that they enjoyed the chase.
Their calm demeanor and the patience with which they followed led her to believe that this wasn't their first rodeo. Each passing second dug their grave deeper as August grew angrier, power rising into the pores of her skin. She scanned the horizon for a good spot, finding an indention in the tree line. Then, she bolted. Like good dogs, they followed behind her, snapping at her strategically placed heels. August had to stifle a laugh when they split up in an attempt to surround her. Really, they were making it far too easy.
Ducking under a low hanging branch, August swung out a leg and unbalanced the nearest man. She heard him curse as he struggled to stand. She'd dislocated his knee, the characteristic pop loud in the silence of the night. With no small amount of precision, August toppled him once more and wrapped her fingers around his neck, twisting it unnaturally. There was no time to admire her handiwork, she had two more to contend with.
Leaving the body to be found by someone else, August climbed a nearby tree and waited. The second man stepped carefully through the brush so silently that August immediately spotted him as a hunter. He was tracking her movements like some kind of wild animal hunted for sport. It surprised him to find his comrade laying out on the ground, but he recovered quickly. Turning in a circle, he looked for more clues as to her whereabouts. From her vantage point, August caught the third man circling around his friend and knew she needed to act fast. Hunching down, she sprang.
It couldn't be helped that the man she'd taken down called out as soon as she landed atop him. She merely used what little leverage she had to snap his rotator cuff and render his dominant arm useless. With at least a hundred pounds on her, August would need the added advantage if she wanted to avoid using her magic. Magic only called to the dark, sending out a beacon for her whereabouts. Besides, she could take down these motherfuckers with her bare hands. Straight up.
The second man was dispatched in much the same manner as the first, which left one final opponent. August didn't bother to hide, standing over the two dead bodies at her feet with a proud posture. Confusion and fear would only make him easier to kill.
"What the fuck?" He said, tipping his ball cap back a little.
"I wasn't expectin' company," August said lightly. "I apologize that I'm less than hospitable."
"Fucking bitch," came the inevitable slur.
August laughed, "You'd be amazed at how often I hear that phrase."
His shoulders canted forwards and August dropped a little in her stance. Her blood cried out for the battle, readying the huge drop of adrenaline.
"Fantastic," August drawled.
And then she was being tackled, lifted, and slammed into the ground. With a wild scream, she wrenched her body around and head butted him. Daintily, she rolled away and stood. He wiped at his bloodied nose as he stood, air wisping through his lungs. Another lunge. Another tackle. A broken cheekbone.
"Keep this up and you won't have no face left," August taunted.
He wailed in rage and pain, trying two more times to subdue her. She broke his wrist next and activated a painful pressure point. The power rose in her, barely checked when he glanced her shoulder and spun her sideways and off balance. Catching her footing, August squared herself mightily.
"You gonna lie down and die?"
The man seemed to consider the statement as he tried to clear his vision. There was a moment where August thought she had well and truly broken him, like one of her uncle's horses. But, then, he charged forward yet again. Deciding to be uncharacteristically merciful, August delivered the killing blow. He lurched forward, loose-limbed. The last of his breath blew out of his lungs and August watched him recognize his own death before the light dimmed in his eyes.
Still shaking from the exertion, August surveyed the bodies. Then, she grabbed one of their shirts and wiped down their skin thoroughly. Tucking the soiled cloth into a side pocket of her backpack, August gave the scene a once over. Three bodies of men, one clearly beaten to death, stared back at her. She had to tamp down the unrecognizable self loathing she felt. Her actions were justifiable despite their barbarism. She wouldn't lose sleep over it.
Turning on her heel, August walked another three miles in near darkness before falling asleep beneath a rock off the side of the road. When the sun rose the next morning, August could still smell the faint acidity of blood on her skin. Turning her mind from the memory, she hailed another ride.
On a stroke of luck, August was able to catch another trucker who agreed to stop at a rest stop before finishing the trek towards the Mississippi. She hopped out of the cab and nearly sprinted for the shower room. The water wasn't as hot as she liked, but the soap she'd snagged from headquarters left her feeling clean. Though she had only one pair of jeans, she was able to put on a new shirt and clean socks and underwear, which made her feel somehow more normal.
As she packed up her bag once more, August thought she heard the sound of a padded foot in the puddle of water left behind her. Instincts on high alert, she surveyed the room intensely. Seeing nothing, August slipped back into the muggy air and jumped back into the cab of the semi. It was a straight shot to the river from there.
When she finally said goodbye to the trucker a day and a half later, August was damn near out of food and money. The expanse of Kentucky still stood between her and her destination. Too proud to beg, August snatched a few energy bars from a gas station and filled up her water bottle. A wall calendar told her it was Sunday morning. Most of the populace would be at church, which left her walking ten miles before she found a ride. They were heading to the north, which was out of her way a bit, but the easterly travel would more than make up for the loss.
She rode in the backseat as the middle aged couple chatted aimlessly with her. Where was she from? Where was she going? Out of pure enjoyment, August spun a tale of betrayed love and hard times. Her lover had promised her a home in Louisville only to put her out on the streets not two months later. Usurping her with a mistress. They bought it, which was surprising because August wouldn't have believed such a load of crap. Still, they gave her money for a meal when they dropped her off a few hours later.
Another day's trek through a valley August recognized from her childhood and she was standing at the threshold of her parent's house, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The walls were still standing, but the windows had been knocked out and the locked jimmied open. The kitchen she loved had been vandalized and there were holes in the walls of the bedroom. The bathroom tub was completely gone and all the furniture with it. August was left with an empty shell of the home she once knew and it killed her to stand amidst it.
Dropping onto the floor in the middle of the living room, August stared at the fireplace. There was still a very slight discoloration where she and many other children had slept before it. Crawling towards the spot, August ran her hands over the wooden floorboards, fingers catching on the indentations. She lifted her gaze to the fireplace, itself, touching the brick as fond memories rolled through her mind. Slipping hand around the edge of the opening, August opened the flue. Dust and debris dropped down with a wet splat. She reached further, her fingertips brushing against a small box.
Eyes closing in relief, August pulled the tin from its hiding place, the metal very nearly destroyed with age. Carefully, she opened it, her tongue slipping out to rest against the front of her teeth. Inside was the last framed picture of her family, her mother's heirloom bracelet and about three hundred dollars in cash. Disregarding the money for the moment, August fastened the bracelet around her wrist, the gold needing to be cleaned. She held up her arm, staring at it for a long time. It was now one of her dearest possessions.
Next, she took the picture of her family and held it to the light. Her father was wearing his one suit jacket and a dark pair of jeans. Her mother was dressed in her church clothes, a gingham dress edged with lace. August was wearing pigtails and a green sun dress. Her mother had made that dress out of donated material from the church. She remembered how it seemed to take a very long time for her mother to comb and arrange her hair. August had wanted to be outside that day, swimming with the kids who lived about a mile and a half away. The ride to the photo store was inordinately long in her father's old truck. The wait for their turn interminable.
August rose and approached the mantle of the fireplace, swiping at it to clear the dust and dirt. Then, she set the picture in the center and stood back. Her family smiled out at her and she felt some of the last dregs of sadness fall away. This was her home once more and August would restore it, so help her God.
The next day, August trekked down the mountain to the nearest town and looked for help wanted signs. There weren't many options, but a local bookstore was needing some part time help. August had never been much of a reader, finding action much more stimulating, but she said she could start immediately and she said that she was a hard worker. The owner, an aging man with snow white hair and wire spectacles looked her up and down before giving a soft grunt. She guessed that meant she had the job.
It would be two weeks before August would be paid for the first time, and even then she wasn't going to be pulling in the dough. At the local grocery, she bought only the essentials—and then, only as much as she could carry in her pack—before heading back to the house. The dirt trail wasn't much trod, it seemed. Unpaved, the flora threatened to overtake it in several places. August noted that she would have to work on it a little to make it passable for a bicycle and, eventually a car. The project would have to wait, however, as she had bigger things to take care of first.
It took almost a week to get the dirt and ragged leftovers out of the house and, without any money to perform repairs, August moved on to working on the outside. She pulled weeds until her neck and back ached with being bent over. She cleared the gravel drive as best she could and used an ancient broom to sweep glass from the broken windows into a small bucket. Every few days, she would carry the bucket with her to town and empty it in the dumpster behind the bookstore. The routine soon became almost comforting. She numbed her frustration and inner turmoil with focused plans for restoring the home and shifts at the store. Before she was really aware of it, August had passed the whole spring and the first few weeks of summer in this way.
Her project was coming along nicely, if her opinion counted for anything. She had managed to fix the holes in the walls with drywall and plaster and had just started painting the front rooms. The windows were still broken but she had covered them with cardboard and heavy pieces of fabric lifted from the upholstery shop down the street from the bookstore. The bathroom was still a mess, but August was able to wash her hair in the sink at the store a couple of times a week. The owner, Mr. Jones, left her alone every once in a while to run errands or to go to the bank. There wasn't much business, but the students from the local school came by every few months to buy out their selection of classics as the curriculum required. That, alone, saved the place from going under.
Most of her shifts were spent reading the home improvement books that were rarely ever touched. She learned about staining wood and repairing cabinets and laying tile. Nothing was too complex or off limits for her perusal. Her only limitation for executing her projects was monetary in nature. Her paychecks were regular, but small. Without power or water bills, her expenses amounted to food and a few extra pairs of clothes. Everything else was either saved or used for materials on the house.
August went without food for a whole pay period, stealing through the back door of a restaurant to pilfer small meals in between, in order to pay for a proper door. It wasn't pretty, but it had a deadbolt. She didn't lock it as the windows were still wide open, but August was proud of it on principle. One at a time, she replaced windows and broken pieces of brick until the exterior of the house was secure. The makeshift curtains were turned into small rugs and a blanket or two. When she stood in the middle of the living room now, the house looked almost livable. Sure, there was no running water or electricity and the bathroom was still a mess, but August had never felt more pride in her accomplishments.
One day, while she was making her way back home from the bookstore, August was surprised to see a shiny black car sitting in the space where her driveway would be once she could afford the new gravel. She approached it cautiously, tightening the straps on her backpack in case she needed to fight. As she got closer, the back passenger door opened and Director Fury stepped out.
August stopped a few feet away and crossed her arms, "What do you want?"
Fury smiled, "I have a proposition."
"Answer is no," August replied, turning towards her front door.
He followed, booted feet crunching in the grass. "You haven't heard my offer."
Turning to lean against the front door, August gave a sardonic smile, "I don't need to. Now if you'll kindly get off my property."
Fury was undeterred, he folded his hands behind his back and braced his feet, "The world needs you."
Rolling her eyes, August sneered, "The world has plenty of heroes—you have a whole team of 'em."
He shrugged, "None quite like you."
"Don't pander to me, Fury," August drawled. "You're not gonna get anywhere."
"I thought so," He said. "That's why I have a backup plan."
Annoyed, August opened the door and stepped inside, "Tell me quick, so I can get on with telling you 'no'."
Fury walked the perimeter of the kitchen, his gaze assessing. August kept her expression neutral, but looked carefully at his face. She wouldn't let him make her feel bad about her home. She wasn't a contractor, but she had done a good job and if he didn't like it, he could shove his opinion right up his ass.
"You've done a lot of work," he commented lightly.
August rolled the muscles of her neck a little, "I've had some time on my hands."
"Time," Fury began, running his hand over the scratched countertop, "A very precious thing."
Feeling her patience run thin, August yelled, "Will you get on with it already? Jesus, you're slower than molasses in winter."
He laughed and August felt her anger grow brighter, her power gathering in her core. She contemplated throwing him out with a burst of power, but there was no telling how many soldiers he had lined up for protection. Her time up the mountain had been relatively unmolested and August wanted to keep it that way. She didn't need any more people trying to catch a glimpse from the road or bringing over a casserole in an attempt to be friendly.
"Out with it," She growled, muscles twitching.
"Alright," Fury said, still smiling. "We've discovered that we're up against some kind of dark army. Every enemy we defeat awakens another sleeper cell and our agents are being overrun with assignments. Claire has some theories, but each new opponent is stronger than the last." He paused a moment, "Agent Barton was seriously injured in the last mission."
August tilted her head to the side, "I'm waiting for the moment when I should care."
Fury took a breath that she recognized as an effort to steady a knee-jerk emotion, "So was Camilla. Surely, you care for a fellow Guardian."
Shaking her head, August stepped forward, "I'm not a Guardian. Don't you ever forget that."
Fury's eyes narrowed, "No, you're stronger than a Guardian. Claire talks about your accomplishments constantly."
"Claire is optimistic," August retorted, "And blind."
He leaned against the counter, "For someone so young, you're very bitter."
"Prison will do that to ya," August replied with venom in her voice.
"I know," Fury uttered lowly. "I'm sorry that you had to experience that at fifteen."
August took another step forward so that she had to look up at him, "I'll say it again. Get on with it."
"It's simple, August. We need your fire power. Claire will take care of strategy, but we're falling behind and I am losing men."
August was sorely tempted to give in, the full use of her abilities a tantalizing draw. But, she would have to go back to that place with those people whose life mission was to be god damn heroes. August wouldn't allow herself to be exploited again, wouldn't allow her power to be the subject of some corporate agenda.
Swallowing against a dry throat, August pronounced very clearly, "Sucks to be you. Get out. I'm not tellin' you again."
Fury left without another word, the sleek car pulled out of her drive and down the road until it was out of sight. August stood at her door for a long time, leaning against the jamb and working to shove the unwanted feelings back down into the pit of her stomach where an inevitable ulcer would form. She could deal with that, she thought.
Rough start for our character. I had some trouble mixing in her blatant immaturity with the fact that she can and has killed a lot of people. Hopefully, I have done the character justice.