In A Name
AbeoUmbra
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Disclaimer: I don't own any of rights to the three "Chronicles of Riddick" (Pitch Black, Dark Fury, and the "Chronicles of Riddick" movie, commonly called "Riddick" for the sheer unoriginality of the title – personally, I would have stuck with the "darkness" name-theme) movies; nor do I own "Escape From Butcher Bay" the video game "prequel" to the movies. Also, it's supposed to be re-mixed into a remake of the above mentioned Riddick video game re-titled "Assault on Dark Athena". Incase your wondering, I don't have any part to play, or hand in, on any of those things. Not even Harry Potter anything.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
"Memories, Don't Dare Forget"
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
"Well," her voice was smoky though it was tinted with professionalism, "I suspected we'd meet, though I must admit I'd thought to see you among better company." She was the sort of woman a man would do things for, simply for her favor.
With lush lips and dark lashes, her long lavender hair added to her physical attraction. Before her were her latest "guests" six men in warn clothing, a gruff look to them – criminals, stowaways – misfits. They hadn't been well fed, and there was a desperation to them that would have sent chills down the spines of those who knew what near death could bring you to.
They did not move, not to run – not to make an attempt to hurt her. They did not dare to do something of the like. They had seen her kill, had seen her men take their ship in easy maneuvers that showed tangles and snares only when forced. Her people were well trained – experts. She would have it no other way.
The man who she addressed didn't look as if he should have such attention put upon him. Yet, of all of them, he had been bound by restraints the most – his hands and fingers especially immobilized.
He didn't look bothered by the heavy metal, though he should have been crushed by it – or looked like he would have been. He was wiry build – for those on the ship who rude enough to call him "slender" had somehow had their tongues removed – though he shorter then the woman he faced, and thin enough to look as if he could be a child it was his eyes that told the truth.
Beneath a spill shoulder length wild black hair, green eyes darker then her own pale green peeked though. There was something strange about those eyes….that was unnatural. The woman smiled slowly, catching his attention only then.
Until her smile he had stood still, barely breathing, eyes taking in his surroundings, flicking that way and this. He didn't seem to focus on one thing. Now he did. Anyone else would have started screaming.
There was murder in that look, a giddy delight in death. The woman only inclined her head in a gesture of respect. She knew intimately what he had survived – memorized the details that were skimmed over by anyone sane – she admired him his ability.
"Do I know you?" His voice was rough, as if he had not had much to drink.
"You do not," her nails slid against the skin of his cheek, "but I promise; we will know each other well." A fool would have thought she meant to take him to her bed. Shadows moved in green eyes, a realization occurred, the green eyes darkened. Blood had been promised to be shed by both alike.
Blood would be paid.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
"Please, be seated." The woman asked of him, gesturing to a couch – plush red - like fresh spilled blood. He sat, for now obedient even as the chains about his wrists clanked, and his guards fretted over where to position themselves and their weapons to the greatest advantage of survival.
"You must wonder what I intend to do to you…" She mused tapping a finger to her lips, what would look coy only looked like a threat. He was again looking about himself, as if he could not quite settle, he did not feel comfortable. It was just as well, he was not meant to be comfortable.
"Not really, nothing you do that I can't undo." It seemed that his words were fact, so far as he was concerned. He truly believed that too. It could have been superiority – or ignorance – if the words had come from anyone else. She knew this to be his truth. It was peculiar, but it was not something that could be disproved.
He had lost a hand – a hand that she had had removed in the struggle only hours ago as the ship was taken – yet, that injury seemed as if it had never happened. He had a new hand, grown from nothing – as she had the discarded limb still. It was not artificial; neither did it have DNA that was of someone else. Fascinating, still, there was something more then mere proof of medical anomaly that she wanted of him.
"Truly, Mr. Potter, you are a baffling modern marvel. What some might call "the perfect solider"… though we all know what a soldier is, do we not..?" Her lips pressed only a little when his answer was slow in coming. It seemed to her that he hadn't known an answer was expected. He would soon learn better.
"A killer…." His answer was no nonsense; there was no emotion in it, merely acceptance of a fact.
"That is right; do you know where you are?" It was a soft question; full of something like curiosity – thick with annoyance - yet his eyes had locked with her. Something in the shadows of the green eyes – bright like ancient choking veins – stirred; he tilted his head only then – his gaze purposely absent. He meant to act the fool that knew more then what was given credit. She did not underestimate him.
"Merc ship, Cleo 4th-Class, registered to Lady Antonia Chillingsworth of the Mercenary Guild." Only then did the green eyes leave hers, she had stiffened in her seat. He was not meant to know so much. It was more then impressive. It was eerie. She smiled again, slowly, he seemed almost amused.
"They do not give you enough credit. I will tell you now, Harry Potter, I have longed looked for you. You grew up on Earth; your home world is particularly violent, though rarely do they venture far from their system. You…you on the other hand, seemed to have run from your world. You took odd killing jobs; it was inevitable that you come in contact with the Furyans. Some thought you'd met your death with them, they are not known for their kindness in finding mercenaries trudging about their worlds and systems. Yet, strangely, we have accounts that deter this assumption, instead they seemed almost attracted to you, something like a carnal desire – an attraction. This was a working partnership, and then, strangely – like a whisper, they faded. We think they are all dead. Yet you live. One would think you would have something to do with their dead…" She paused then, to take a sip of water, his eyes trailed down the glass almost like a touch – then flinched away.
"I do not think you had anything to do with their extinction. I think you want revenge. I think you know what you are hunting – and I do not guess to why it took you to this system." She was inviting answers, but he said nothing, almost cruelly, she spilled the water onto the floor while he watched.
"I will nonetheless, take advantage of this opportunity. Do you know what I do with my bounty, Potter?" Antonia asked softly, it was obvious that this was the point she had wanted to get around to all along. Harry lifted his lip in something like a snarl – or a smirk.
"You know I do not." She had kept her eyes from his, it was part superstition, but there were rumors that this man could read minds if allowed a glimpse into another's eyes. She had seen enough to be suspicious that these were not only rumors – that perhaps they carried some weight.
"I collect those I find worthy of their title – the filth and monsters, criminals, and man-slaughters – genius by another name. I make them into my frozen trophies, preserved for the ages with all their skills, yet they can do no harm and those I work with are satisfied with their helplessness. Some might call me cruel – but I like to think of my self as a collector. I ask not your opinion on my hobbies; rather, I have a proposition." Her fingers threaded through her hair, even as she flicked it behind her, watching his expression shift from annoyance to wary amusement.
"I would rather die then be a trophy." She laughed, a low delighted chuckle, a bed room voice. There was no reaction from him, he seemed uncaring – cold to her and her ways. She was not offended.
"I would rather cut my own throat then see the likes of you and yours preserved, you have a sort of life that few could understand – you are only alive when you kill, you live for the moment. Made still, you would be as dead, not preserved – made less. That is not what I seek." There was a warning of steel in her tone, he did not speak again, and she was pleased.
"As you might guess, after I collect my bounty, I have little use for those who are trash – mere piety would-be mimics. It is like art. I used to burn them, but the smell proved overwhelming – then I used them in games, alas, suicide seemed preferred. Some I have turned into loyal pets. Others…well, others are useless trash. I offer a…arrangement, Mr. Potter. You kill my mutts – I will see that you are put to use as a weapon and killer should be. Do you accept?" There was blandness to her tone and features, deadness.
"Will I get to keep my sword?" She smiled, for both of them knew the answer to her question. Antonia would see that he lost none of his skill, and was – perhaps – once in a while challenged; his free wandering ways would no longer trouble the Mercenary Guild.
They might even be pleased that he was in her service.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
"Where the hell did the bitch get someone like you?" Brash and young, full of what he could do and what he aspired to, those were the first words Toombs could boast to Harry. It would be a first meeting neither would forget.
There was good reason for his words, everyone whispered of this man who had the physical shape of a boy. It was almost comical; the double edged sword would – for anyone else like Harry – be almost an impossible feat.
Its making was a mystery – as much as 'Mr. Potter' himself – it was an elegant blade tinted with a strange blackened metal, though its use for killing was plain. Its tip was narrow, while it thickened toward the handle, what should have smoothly moved from base to hilt had instead been curled toward the hilt to guard where it would be gripped. Its hilt – a smoky green - was large enough that even resting across his lap – held in both hands to either side of the torso – it still had a blade as long as Harry was tall.
It was impressive.
It was not something someone wanted to be pressed against their throat.
"Let us make something clear, Toombs, we are not friends. I do not like you. I do not want to fuck. You will show Antonia respect, she is your employer." Toombs arched his neck, daring, a small smirk across his lips. He didn't believe Harry would kill him, not in cold blood. This was his warning.
Toombs might not have laid eyes on Harry until now, but that did not mean that Toombs did not know what others whispered, what they knew of this man. Toombs was, to say the least, intrigued. Just the thought of the smaller man under him was enough to get him hard. Harry was not one to submit. Toombs didn't give a damn – he had time, at least a year left on this ship before they hit a world to unload cargo.
Toombs wasn't afraid. Not yet.
"You will find I'll get what I want, eventually. We'll see. As for respect – well, I'll give that she runs a damn fine ship and smoothes the business side of things nicely – but she's as crazy as a bat out of hell." Slowly, Harry smiled, it wasn't a pleasant expression. Toombs tensed, knowing that this had been a set up. It had been a trap he had walked into.
He did not know why Harry had done this, his curiosity tugged at him, even as a woman's voice washed over him.
"Is that what you really think, Toombs? A shame, I'm afraid this is insubordination….back out in the cold for you…" Toombs knew then that he was nothing to Harry – and less then nothing to Antonia. They both saw his "talents" as not good enough; a bother, not even worth killing. Not even a criminal. An embarrassment, perhaps, to be kept out of sight…he grit his teeth as he was led away.
He would see that they regretted such opinions…
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
"I have no need of a bodyguard, Junner, now there are positions for mercenary available, but nothing so specialized." Antonia murmured softly, those who knew her as Harry did would know that she was becoming annoyed. Harry was not there to intercept, and in such times, Antonia found she missed his killing calm.
"I must disagree – the boy is your executioner – your scythe, let me be your shield, and I will see that no harm comes to you." His voice irritated her, though no more then some of her more troublesome hired men and contract killers. It was something she could become used to – only Harry with his utter silence, until otherwise prompted, she had found soothing.
"I can see you are determined, so – if this is your will, I will see if my "scythe" and my "shield" would be a match, for I despise when my tools are found…lacking." Antonia walked onward, Junner following at a quick pace behind her. He was a fool she would gladly see disposed of. Yet, his talents were ranked well – even among her peers, be was not without certain attributes. Perhaps this match would surprise her.
"Harry." That one word was all that was needed to bring Harry to focus upon her. His gaze settled, it was something to be proud of – over their long familiarity he now trusted her – and sometimes, his surroundings.
"This man claims I need a shield to match you, what say you?" His opinion was valuable to her, as he knew – he did not overuse such awareness. In fact, in the years she had known him he had only asked her to see the trouble maker Toombs put in the brig until his contract was fulfilled, or she had use of him.
It was something she did not mind doing. She knew well that Harry was unapproachable to her crew – those who attempted his bed were dealt with swiftly – Harry had little liking or interest in those who could not match his skill - only Toombs would not have taken no or threats to face value.
He had thought it all a challenge. He had been an annoyance.
"I am not with you always, it may yet be worthwhile." His answer surprised her, her crew took great pride in Harry and his abilities – gruesome as they were – had made her and her ship well known as a success. They were among the best. Harry was the best, unrivaled. She could see that Junner was surprised she took the word of the dark haired waif. He would soon learn respect.
"As you like, we shall see. Bled him Junner, and I shall consider your…proposal." She saw Harry's hands tighten on his sword hilt, and in the corner of her eye glimpsed Junner unsheathe his own weapon – a rare sight these days – a blade shacked to a gun. She knew it to be detachable.
Junner circled about Harry, who did not move, keeping a steady eye on the taller man with his dark hair and glasses. This was the only time Harry was focused – when he wished to kill. This would not likely go so far – Harry had better control. Junner made the first move – it could be called luck, or something who was inexperienced would do – or someone impatient, but it was the first move and as Junner moved to slice into Harry's side - Antonia sealed her lips against making a sound.
Harry dropped and had tumbled away, giving up the advantage of standing over remaining unmarred. It was a move that could be called amateur. It was not. Harry had grasped his blade, and moved in the next moment as if to lunge toward Junner's middle. It would be a fatal blow – Junner moved his own sword in close moving into the strike to dodge close.
It had never been Harry's intention to kill Junner – it was something the other man had taken quick advantage of. Blood dripped down Harry's cheek. Harry had his own blade pressed snuggly against Junner's navel. It would only have taken a hard movement and a thrust of a blade, and Junner would be dead.
As it was, it was over. Harry had not been beaten – but Junner had drawn his blood. It was better then anyone else could have done.
"It seems you will be a worthy shield, do you not agree Harry?" Antonia could not see Junner's eyes – they were hidden behind shades – but both of them could see the blood lust in Harry. There was something that wanted to see blood, it screamed beneath the surface.
"He will do, Lady Antonia…" In a smooth movement that neither Antonia nor Junner could see completely, Harry had slipped away from the deadly embrace. He brought a finger to his cheek and licked the finger, his eyes on Junner. It was a strangely intimate moment, one which Junner flushed as he looked away from. Harry had proved his point – he was the killer, the murderer, Junner was suited to fighting, but he would be no match in a true struggle between the two.
Antonia was pleased nonetheless.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Note; sorry for taking so long with this….I needed some time to get it all laid out, proper like, in my head…