Packed: Part One
DISCLAIMER: Marvel owns all the Marvel characters. Anyone you don't recognize is one of mine. The person telling the story is also me. No money is involved (story of my life). Inspired by the cover of Uncanny X-Men 403 (I think that's the one).
SUMMARY: As the dream itself mutates and changes so must the way criminals are dealt with. Jubilee and Logan have become mutant police, but when they come after my friend and I they soon learn that not everything is as its seems.
FEEDBACK: This is a chapter in progress. Please send feedback of any kind (praise, flaming, constructive criticism, etc.) to naiya@mauimail.com.
Hide-a-way Café - perfect place to lose yourself. I sat in my favorite corner table at the back of the room sipping on my Pepsi. I could see everything, from my vantage point and couldn't stop myself from analyzing anyone whom walked through the slatted, double doors. I knew the owner picked them up from some rummage sale in Texas. In fact the Café had a complete Western makeover last year.
Above the entranceway cattle horns extend nearly 12 feet from tip to tip; it was almost a cliche. The Texas longhorn they had belonged to was a pet of the owner. When the animal died of old age, Stan - that's the owner - wanted something to remember him by. On each horn tip perched a brand new cowboy hat complete with dusty top. I guess they didn't bother to clean much way up there.
The jukebox now had an extensive selection of country western CDs ranging from traditional to contemporary. Shania Twain played loudly over the speakers. Well, maybe loud to me. I happened to be sitting smack dab under one. I think the song was called "When".
Stupid song, it was bringing up things I was trying so hard to forget. All the frustrations of the past few weeks were dredged up until my heart began to beat so fast that I thought it would burst. I tried to ignore them at first and really began to study the people around me. If I didn't I was afraid I'd start to cry.
A semi-drunk couple strode through the doors. Okay, they teetered through almost knocking over the waitress at the front table. She had to lean extremely forward and raise up on her tiptoes so she wouldn't dump the contents of several plates onto the nicely dressed patrons.
Disaster averted I followed another waiter laden heavily with what looked like a couple of six packs of beers. He stopped two tables down from the front one. Six leather-clad men watched him approach with intense interest. He set the tray on the table and distributed two beers apiece to each guy. As soon as the waiter left, they raised one beer and toasted. Ah the first beer of the night, how I remember those days.
Yep I can't drink: not anymore. If I did you'd have to take me to the hospital. I have this little thing called an allergic reaction where the inside of my throat becomes so covered with hives that they squeeze off the airflow. They first appeared about six months after I became legal. I tried taking Benedryl for the hives. Ooh, that was even more fun, mixing alcohol and drugs. Needless to say I had to give it up all together. Sometimes it sucked when I was out with my friends.
Most of them drank and, hey, I didn't mind being designated driver now. I was crazy enough when I was bar hopping without the alcohol. I'd insist we go to places with bar pool tables, something else to occupy my time instead of simply watching them get drunker.
My eyes flicked to the opposite corner from my table. Over the music I could hear the pool balls smacking against each other. Stan had decided to one-up the local bars by installing two regulation size tables and charge by the hour instead of by the game. I didn't sweat such details. About a year ago, Stan gave me the code for infinite play because I had saved his ass, or rather his Café's ass a few times. He was totally inept when it came to finances - go figure.
People-watching wasn't enough of a distraction to prevent the burning feeling pressing at the back of my eyes from becoming tears. Quickly I peeled myself from the vinyl booth. I always felt like looking down to see if I left the first two layers of my skin. Hide intact, I stalked over to the unoccupied table, three-inch spike heels pounding a staccato beat in time with the music upon the hardwood floor. At a little under five-foot four, I needed the heels to be noticed.
Right at this time of my life I WANTED to be noticed. After losing seventy-five pounds, can you blame me? I had chosen a pair of cream colored, very short shorts that looked so painted on you could tell what kind of underwear I had on. The edges of my red-checked, baby tee brushed the waistband. Its V-neck plunged so low I had to buy a special bra that wouldn't show. There was no way I could get away without wearing one. My grandmother had seen to that both in training and in genetics. I was - how can I put this gently - oh hell, I was stacked.
I flipped a lock of red hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. The bottle I got the color out of said fire-red. My hair being deep brown to begin with turned fire into blood. With my fair skin I pulled it off the natural look without too many questions. Emerald green contacts replaced my usual clear ones. They were custom designed and fitted, which cost nearly a month's worth of pay. I actually looked what little Irish blood I had in me.
More bar stools lined the walls surrounding the pool tables. The guys on the other table were playing cutthroat nine-ball. I could feel their eyes on my back as I selected a cue stick from the wall, then rolled it on the table to check for straightness. They were still watching, as I set up the table for nine-ball. One even wolf whistled when I bent down to retrieve the balls from storage.
I flashed him a beaming smile. So I'm a bit of a flirt, sue me. He wore a white tank top with a long sleeved denim shirt thrown over it. He'd left the buttons open but the ends were tucked into nicely fitting, faded blue jeans. His studded black boots came up almost to his knees.
The other two were dressed almost in the same thing. Both had those faded blue jeans and black boots but one had a black T-shirt with Metallica in black shiny letters on it. The other didn't bother with a shirt. He could afford not to. His chest muscles danced under tanned smooth skin while he took aim for his next shot. Not too big but he wasn't scrawny either.
He caught me staring and I damned my fair skin. The blush burned hot on my cheeks and gave them a good laugh. Gathering my wounded pride around me I chalked up the cue stick, straddling the butt to hold it with my knees. More wolf whistles and catcalls sounded from the other table. Okay, a flirt and a tease; a girl's got to have hobby right?
They were making so much noise I could see Stan leaning over the bar. He waved Carl, one of the bouncers, over and whispered something into his ear. Carl nodded a few times and caught my eye. He mouthed, "You okay?" and started to walk over.
If you listened hard enough you could hear his spurs jingling. Functional as well as decorative, I had seen him use them once in a fight, nearly slitting someone's throat in a high Tae Kwon Do kick. The tops of his boots were lost to the cuffs of his beige dress slacks. His black, long sleeve shirt clung like a second skin, showing off broad, well built shoulders. His waist dipped sharply in then exploded into powerfully muscled legs. You could tell even through the slacks. His height saved him from looking ridiculous.
At 6'6", Carl towered above most of the people in the room. He'd tied his long black hair into a loose ponytail away from the strong features of his face. With high angled cheekbones, dark brown skin tinged with red and true black eyes; he could have been the cover boy for the American Indian GQ. I loved watching him no matter what he was doing. My best friend once said he was a feast for the senses. I agree with her wholeheartedly.
I gave him a barely perceptible nod, then pretended to ignore Carl. I called to the guy without a shirt. "You got a name to match that pretty face of yours?" I asked.
Carl was almost to the corner of my table. He didn't look pleased with me and continued to try to stare me down as he parked himself in the corner behind my table. Did I mention that not only was I a flirt and a tease, but a little aggressive too? Nope, well now you know.
"Name's Alan, sweetness, and I bet I can handle my stick better that you could yours." He laughed at his own joke. The other two sat on a couple of the stools leaning against the counter and raised their beers in salute to Alan.
"I bet you're the only one who is handling your "stick" Alan." I left him to his buddies' teasing and set up my breaking shot. I'm a bit anal when it came to playing pool. God knows I spent most of my free time doing it I might as well be good at it.
After breaking I waved one of the waiters over and ordered another Pepsi. Alan had sunk three in a row by the time I'd gotten around to asking the other two their names. Wolf whistler was now Brad and 'metal' head became Ryan.
I returned my attention back my next shot. Oh goody, the 2 ball was behind the 8, no problem. "Hey Carl, bank shot with three walls. Care to make a bet?" I said.
"Hell no! I learned a long time ago not to make that mistake. You don't have the nickname, 'Mako' for nothing, you know." He unfolded his arms, pushed away from the corner and stepped in right next to me to examine the shot. "On second thought, you're on."
I started to bump him out of my so I could win but he caught my chin with his right hand and forced me to look up at him. Anger flared momentarily. He was already invading my personal space but he had the nerve to touch me. Oh all right, truth was him being so close was making my body go warm and tight. The smell of his aftershave was driving me crazy. I waited for him to speak until my neck got too sore from looking that far up.
"You gonna say something or just stand there holding my chin? Are we on or what?" It was as polite as I could be under the circumstances. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alan watching us intently almost as if he was going to jump in and save me. For all his teasing he may just be a decent guy, although I really wasn't in danger.
"What do I get if you...dare I say it...miss?" he challenged eyes bright but strangely guarded.
I considered for a moment. We had always been great friends, however it was a delicate thing. Every now and then something else crept in our faces, something raw and primal. His challenge awakened every base instinct building in an upward spiral of desire the flooded all my senses.
With my free hand I latched onto his ponytail and pulled his head down. His lips hovered barely above mine, his breath warm and minty. "Here's a hint," I breathed and brushed my lips against his.
He froze for an instant, not responding to my increasingly harder kiss. Then, feather light, his fingers slid from my chin to cup the curve of my cheek and he kissed back like he'd drink me down. In the back of my mind I felt a barrier break, shattering into a million pieces; what it meant, I had no idea.
Everything seemed to come to a standstill. Power, for lack of a better word, ran like fire through my body hardening my nipples and causing my flesh to crawl in waves of goose bumps. Blackness ate at the edges of my awareness. The last thing I remember thinking was now I know why Carl and I had tried to stay at the friend level.
Before I could react someone shoved us roughly apart. Still in the thrall of Carl's kiss I couldn't recover my balance in time to avoid the corner of the pool table. I finally ended up on the ground and knew that I'd have very pretty bruises for a month. At least the impact cleared my head and I was back in control of my senses.
A small, actually I should say short, man ducked under Carl's kick and swept the other leg out from under him. Bar stools went flying and sent the rest of the pool players running for cover. From a nearly prone position Carl twisted his hips in a windmill motion and kicked up towards the stranger's neck.
"Yo, Wolvie, bob and weave. Tonto has spurs...Oy too late." A Chinese woman leapt into view just as Carl's spur caught her partner across the shoulder. To my amazement he didn't cry out in pain. He bared his teeth and growled like an angry dog, but what happened next, I wasn't prepared for. Six blades sprouted from his knuckles like claws and the wound on his shoulder was gone.
"Bub, I'm gonna put ya in world o'hurt," he growled and leapt at Carl with surprising speed.
I was being ignored and wasn't sure if I should be glad or insulted. I crawled under the pool table where my cue stick had rolled and separated the pieces. All I could see of the fight was a flurry of legs. The spurs sang continually missing their targets. Carl was good yet these people avoided his attacks with ease.
Fear crept up my throat and slowly turned to anger. I hated being afraid and I felt I was also being a coward, huddled under the table. The woman's legs came very close to my hiding place. It was too temping. Ignoring the wrenching pain in my hip I aimed for the back of her knees and pounced into the open.
Her knees popped audibly from the blow of my cue stick butt and she collapsed on top of me. My chin became very acquainted with her elbow and I tasted blood. Now I was pissed. Females can be deceptive but I had mastered the art going suddenly limp.
"I think I hurt her bad Wolvie. We weren't supposed to damage them, just bag and carry. Prof's gonna short a fuse." I felt her hands examine my joints. Carl had lost his battle. I knew because his was swearing, questioning everything from the feral man's sexual preference to his heritage in very colorful phrases. One particularly descriptive curse almost made me blow my cover.
Again I felt movement and then the brush of the woman's long brain. I think she was listening for my breath. It was as if I could tell where she displaced the air in front of my face. A picture formed in my head of how I believed she was positioned over me. That weird power feeling flowed through my body and I could hear Carl calling my name but he sounded so distant.
I'm not entirely sure I consciously commanded my body, more like my body commanded me. Suddenly my hands pushed upward, forcing the woman off me. I continued to let my body do the thinking and moved too fast for her to counter my moves. The logical part of me was screaming although somehow this felt right. In a matter of seconds I had the woman in a vise grip, her back pressed hard into my chest, my cue stick pressed against her throat. She went still because she knew I'd break her neck if she moved.
In the silence of the next few moments I realized that my eyes were still closed yet I could tell where everyone was, not by sight but by scent. Confused by the increasingly thick smells of the room I cracked my eyelids open. Nothing happened so I felt encouraged to open them fully, big mistake. Intense light speared into my pupils and I desperately tried to command the irises to close enough to control the input. To my amazement it worked and I could finally see without pain.
Carl was staring at me, his eyes wide with shock. The feral man had Carl on his knees and held those claw blades at his throat. He was also staring at me but with a mixture of wariness and understanding. What was so interesting about my face I wondered but first things first, I wanted answers.
"Mexican standoff, darlin'. So what's it goin' ta be? We both lose a friend or do we sit down and play nice?" He had the gall to request a meeting after they had attacked. I slowly counted to ten Yeah, yeah I know, it might as well have been a hundred because I was keyed up enough to jumpstart a lawnmower.
DISCLAIMER: Marvel owns all the Marvel characters. Anyone you don't recognize is one of mine. The person telling the story is also me. No money is involved (story of my life). Inspired by the cover of Uncanny X-Men 403 (I think that's the one).
SUMMARY: As the dream itself mutates and changes so must the way criminals are dealt with. Jubilee and Logan have become mutant police, but when they come after my friend and I they soon learn that not everything is as its seems.
FEEDBACK: This is a chapter in progress. Please send feedback of any kind (praise, flaming, constructive criticism, etc.) to naiya@mauimail.com.
Hide-a-way Café - perfect place to lose yourself. I sat in my favorite corner table at the back of the room sipping on my Pepsi. I could see everything, from my vantage point and couldn't stop myself from analyzing anyone whom walked through the slatted, double doors. I knew the owner picked them up from some rummage sale in Texas. In fact the Café had a complete Western makeover last year.
Above the entranceway cattle horns extend nearly 12 feet from tip to tip; it was almost a cliche. The Texas longhorn they had belonged to was a pet of the owner. When the animal died of old age, Stan - that's the owner - wanted something to remember him by. On each horn tip perched a brand new cowboy hat complete with dusty top. I guess they didn't bother to clean much way up there.
The jukebox now had an extensive selection of country western CDs ranging from traditional to contemporary. Shania Twain played loudly over the speakers. Well, maybe loud to me. I happened to be sitting smack dab under one. I think the song was called "When".
Stupid song, it was bringing up things I was trying so hard to forget. All the frustrations of the past few weeks were dredged up until my heart began to beat so fast that I thought it would burst. I tried to ignore them at first and really began to study the people around me. If I didn't I was afraid I'd start to cry.
A semi-drunk couple strode through the doors. Okay, they teetered through almost knocking over the waitress at the front table. She had to lean extremely forward and raise up on her tiptoes so she wouldn't dump the contents of several plates onto the nicely dressed patrons.
Disaster averted I followed another waiter laden heavily with what looked like a couple of six packs of beers. He stopped two tables down from the front one. Six leather-clad men watched him approach with intense interest. He set the tray on the table and distributed two beers apiece to each guy. As soon as the waiter left, they raised one beer and toasted. Ah the first beer of the night, how I remember those days.
Yep I can't drink: not anymore. If I did you'd have to take me to the hospital. I have this little thing called an allergic reaction where the inside of my throat becomes so covered with hives that they squeeze off the airflow. They first appeared about six months after I became legal. I tried taking Benedryl for the hives. Ooh, that was even more fun, mixing alcohol and drugs. Needless to say I had to give it up all together. Sometimes it sucked when I was out with my friends.
Most of them drank and, hey, I didn't mind being designated driver now. I was crazy enough when I was bar hopping without the alcohol. I'd insist we go to places with bar pool tables, something else to occupy my time instead of simply watching them get drunker.
My eyes flicked to the opposite corner from my table. Over the music I could hear the pool balls smacking against each other. Stan had decided to one-up the local bars by installing two regulation size tables and charge by the hour instead of by the game. I didn't sweat such details. About a year ago, Stan gave me the code for infinite play because I had saved his ass, or rather his Café's ass a few times. He was totally inept when it came to finances - go figure.
People-watching wasn't enough of a distraction to prevent the burning feeling pressing at the back of my eyes from becoming tears. Quickly I peeled myself from the vinyl booth. I always felt like looking down to see if I left the first two layers of my skin. Hide intact, I stalked over to the unoccupied table, three-inch spike heels pounding a staccato beat in time with the music upon the hardwood floor. At a little under five-foot four, I needed the heels to be noticed.
Right at this time of my life I WANTED to be noticed. After losing seventy-five pounds, can you blame me? I had chosen a pair of cream colored, very short shorts that looked so painted on you could tell what kind of underwear I had on. The edges of my red-checked, baby tee brushed the waistband. Its V-neck plunged so low I had to buy a special bra that wouldn't show. There was no way I could get away without wearing one. My grandmother had seen to that both in training and in genetics. I was - how can I put this gently - oh hell, I was stacked.
I flipped a lock of red hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. The bottle I got the color out of said fire-red. My hair being deep brown to begin with turned fire into blood. With my fair skin I pulled it off the natural look without too many questions. Emerald green contacts replaced my usual clear ones. They were custom designed and fitted, which cost nearly a month's worth of pay. I actually looked what little Irish blood I had in me.
More bar stools lined the walls surrounding the pool tables. The guys on the other table were playing cutthroat nine-ball. I could feel their eyes on my back as I selected a cue stick from the wall, then rolled it on the table to check for straightness. They were still watching, as I set up the table for nine-ball. One even wolf whistled when I bent down to retrieve the balls from storage.
I flashed him a beaming smile. So I'm a bit of a flirt, sue me. He wore a white tank top with a long sleeved denim shirt thrown over it. He'd left the buttons open but the ends were tucked into nicely fitting, faded blue jeans. His studded black boots came up almost to his knees.
The other two were dressed almost in the same thing. Both had those faded blue jeans and black boots but one had a black T-shirt with Metallica in black shiny letters on it. The other didn't bother with a shirt. He could afford not to. His chest muscles danced under tanned smooth skin while he took aim for his next shot. Not too big but he wasn't scrawny either.
He caught me staring and I damned my fair skin. The blush burned hot on my cheeks and gave them a good laugh. Gathering my wounded pride around me I chalked up the cue stick, straddling the butt to hold it with my knees. More wolf whistles and catcalls sounded from the other table. Okay, a flirt and a tease; a girl's got to have hobby right?
They were making so much noise I could see Stan leaning over the bar. He waved Carl, one of the bouncers, over and whispered something into his ear. Carl nodded a few times and caught my eye. He mouthed, "You okay?" and started to walk over.
If you listened hard enough you could hear his spurs jingling. Functional as well as decorative, I had seen him use them once in a fight, nearly slitting someone's throat in a high Tae Kwon Do kick. The tops of his boots were lost to the cuffs of his beige dress slacks. His black, long sleeve shirt clung like a second skin, showing off broad, well built shoulders. His waist dipped sharply in then exploded into powerfully muscled legs. You could tell even through the slacks. His height saved him from looking ridiculous.
At 6'6", Carl towered above most of the people in the room. He'd tied his long black hair into a loose ponytail away from the strong features of his face. With high angled cheekbones, dark brown skin tinged with red and true black eyes; he could have been the cover boy for the American Indian GQ. I loved watching him no matter what he was doing. My best friend once said he was a feast for the senses. I agree with her wholeheartedly.
I gave him a barely perceptible nod, then pretended to ignore Carl. I called to the guy without a shirt. "You got a name to match that pretty face of yours?" I asked.
Carl was almost to the corner of my table. He didn't look pleased with me and continued to try to stare me down as he parked himself in the corner behind my table. Did I mention that not only was I a flirt and a tease, but a little aggressive too? Nope, well now you know.
"Name's Alan, sweetness, and I bet I can handle my stick better that you could yours." He laughed at his own joke. The other two sat on a couple of the stools leaning against the counter and raised their beers in salute to Alan.
"I bet you're the only one who is handling your "stick" Alan." I left him to his buddies' teasing and set up my breaking shot. I'm a bit anal when it came to playing pool. God knows I spent most of my free time doing it I might as well be good at it.
After breaking I waved one of the waiters over and ordered another Pepsi. Alan had sunk three in a row by the time I'd gotten around to asking the other two their names. Wolf whistler was now Brad and 'metal' head became Ryan.
I returned my attention back my next shot. Oh goody, the 2 ball was behind the 8, no problem. "Hey Carl, bank shot with three walls. Care to make a bet?" I said.
"Hell no! I learned a long time ago not to make that mistake. You don't have the nickname, 'Mako' for nothing, you know." He unfolded his arms, pushed away from the corner and stepped in right next to me to examine the shot. "On second thought, you're on."
I started to bump him out of my so I could win but he caught my chin with his right hand and forced me to look up at him. Anger flared momentarily. He was already invading my personal space but he had the nerve to touch me. Oh all right, truth was him being so close was making my body go warm and tight. The smell of his aftershave was driving me crazy. I waited for him to speak until my neck got too sore from looking that far up.
"You gonna say something or just stand there holding my chin? Are we on or what?" It was as polite as I could be under the circumstances. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alan watching us intently almost as if he was going to jump in and save me. For all his teasing he may just be a decent guy, although I really wasn't in danger.
"What do I get if you...dare I say it...miss?" he challenged eyes bright but strangely guarded.
I considered for a moment. We had always been great friends, however it was a delicate thing. Every now and then something else crept in our faces, something raw and primal. His challenge awakened every base instinct building in an upward spiral of desire the flooded all my senses.
With my free hand I latched onto his ponytail and pulled his head down. His lips hovered barely above mine, his breath warm and minty. "Here's a hint," I breathed and brushed my lips against his.
He froze for an instant, not responding to my increasingly harder kiss. Then, feather light, his fingers slid from my chin to cup the curve of my cheek and he kissed back like he'd drink me down. In the back of my mind I felt a barrier break, shattering into a million pieces; what it meant, I had no idea.
Everything seemed to come to a standstill. Power, for lack of a better word, ran like fire through my body hardening my nipples and causing my flesh to crawl in waves of goose bumps. Blackness ate at the edges of my awareness. The last thing I remember thinking was now I know why Carl and I had tried to stay at the friend level.
Before I could react someone shoved us roughly apart. Still in the thrall of Carl's kiss I couldn't recover my balance in time to avoid the corner of the pool table. I finally ended up on the ground and knew that I'd have very pretty bruises for a month. At least the impact cleared my head and I was back in control of my senses.
A small, actually I should say short, man ducked under Carl's kick and swept the other leg out from under him. Bar stools went flying and sent the rest of the pool players running for cover. From a nearly prone position Carl twisted his hips in a windmill motion and kicked up towards the stranger's neck.
"Yo, Wolvie, bob and weave. Tonto has spurs...Oy too late." A Chinese woman leapt into view just as Carl's spur caught her partner across the shoulder. To my amazement he didn't cry out in pain. He bared his teeth and growled like an angry dog, but what happened next, I wasn't prepared for. Six blades sprouted from his knuckles like claws and the wound on his shoulder was gone.
"Bub, I'm gonna put ya in world o'hurt," he growled and leapt at Carl with surprising speed.
I was being ignored and wasn't sure if I should be glad or insulted. I crawled under the pool table where my cue stick had rolled and separated the pieces. All I could see of the fight was a flurry of legs. The spurs sang continually missing their targets. Carl was good yet these people avoided his attacks with ease.
Fear crept up my throat and slowly turned to anger. I hated being afraid and I felt I was also being a coward, huddled under the table. The woman's legs came very close to my hiding place. It was too temping. Ignoring the wrenching pain in my hip I aimed for the back of her knees and pounced into the open.
Her knees popped audibly from the blow of my cue stick butt and she collapsed on top of me. My chin became very acquainted with her elbow and I tasted blood. Now I was pissed. Females can be deceptive but I had mastered the art going suddenly limp.
"I think I hurt her bad Wolvie. We weren't supposed to damage them, just bag and carry. Prof's gonna short a fuse." I felt her hands examine my joints. Carl had lost his battle. I knew because his was swearing, questioning everything from the feral man's sexual preference to his heritage in very colorful phrases. One particularly descriptive curse almost made me blow my cover.
Again I felt movement and then the brush of the woman's long brain. I think she was listening for my breath. It was as if I could tell where she displaced the air in front of my face. A picture formed in my head of how I believed she was positioned over me. That weird power feeling flowed through my body and I could hear Carl calling my name but he sounded so distant.
I'm not entirely sure I consciously commanded my body, more like my body commanded me. Suddenly my hands pushed upward, forcing the woman off me. I continued to let my body do the thinking and moved too fast for her to counter my moves. The logical part of me was screaming although somehow this felt right. In a matter of seconds I had the woman in a vise grip, her back pressed hard into my chest, my cue stick pressed against her throat. She went still because she knew I'd break her neck if she moved.
In the silence of the next few moments I realized that my eyes were still closed yet I could tell where everyone was, not by sight but by scent. Confused by the increasingly thick smells of the room I cracked my eyelids open. Nothing happened so I felt encouraged to open them fully, big mistake. Intense light speared into my pupils and I desperately tried to command the irises to close enough to control the input. To my amazement it worked and I could finally see without pain.
Carl was staring at me, his eyes wide with shock. The feral man had Carl on his knees and held those claw blades at his throat. He was also staring at me but with a mixture of wariness and understanding. What was so interesting about my face I wondered but first things first, I wanted answers.
"Mexican standoff, darlin'. So what's it goin' ta be? We both lose a friend or do we sit down and play nice?" He had the gall to request a meeting after they had attacked. I slowly counted to ten Yeah, yeah I know, it might as well have been a hundred because I was keyed up enough to jumpstart a lawnmower.