*Shakes head* The little green guy has really gotten to me and he's all I can write about. Oh, well. Someone has to write about him. Might as well be me.
I own nothing. Stan does. Although, I wish I did. *sigh*
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X-men- The Movie (Alternate Universe)
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York, England 1993
The walls of the dark room reached high, the ceiling hid by the shadows. Spiders crawled along the floor, seeking solace from the dim light. The dark was where they made their life. Where they found protection and invisibility. Where they were safe.
Mortimer Toynbee was like them in that way. The shadows were his haven. Where he was safe. Mortimer was a mutant. A hated, feared mutant. He had been living in this orphanage his entire life. And they had made him want to die.
He remembered the reactions of the children when he had, trying to escape them, jumped fifteen feet straight up into the rafters of the room. When he had struck out with his fifteen-foot tongue, pulling his tormenter's legs out from beneath him. The boy had cracked his head on the concrete floor. The sight of the boy's blood had plagued his dreams for countless night after. And when the one boy had spit on him when he was five. Not knowing better he had spit back at him. His toxic spit had coated the boy's face and suffocated him. The children's caretakers had beaten him for that. And when they were done, the children had their turn.
As the older kids came towards him, their expressions evil and hating, he had only one wish.
That they would kill him this time.
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Alberta, Canada The not too distant future
The dim-lighted, rundown bar brought much needed relief for the patrons inside. Both from the heavy snow outside and their every day problems. The individuals with the most stress sat at the bar, drowning their sorrows in their beer and pouring their hearts out to the weary bartender.
Logan pulled his shirt and jacket back on as he exited the fighting cage. He stuffed the wad of bills he had won into his back pocket, sat down on a stool, and ordered a beer. His sharp eyes darted around, searching for any points of interest in the dank building. His attention was caught as a group of loud, foot-stomping truckers entered the tavern. Following at the back of the group was a short teenager. Logan couldn't tell whether they were male or female; the teenager was covered in layers of dark clothing and a hood covered his or her face.
The noise of the trucker's arrival had settled down and the bar returned to it's more depressing aura. Logan watched as the small form sat on the corner stool well away from everyone but Logan. Jim, the bartender asked the teen if there was anything he could get them, but the form shook it's hooded head and looked over at the wall. After a moment, the young person seemed to realize someone was staring at him. The hooded head turned and two large, bright eyes stared out from the concealing hood. Logan could make out just enough of the teen's face to tell the young person was male. Noticing Logan staring at him, the boy quickly turned his face away.
Shrugging, Logan looked down at his beer. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around, facing the angry face of one of the guys he fought earlier. The man sneered at him. "I think you owe me some money." His companion grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from Logan. "Come on Steve, let it go." The guy, Steve, shrugged his friend's hand off. " No man can take a beating like you did and not have a mark to show for it." Logan was becoming increasingly more agitated with this guy. "You lost your money, bub. Keep this up and you're gonna lose somethin' else." He growled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scared eyes of the young man staring at them. He turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
The man leaned forward, a small smirk on his face, and whispered, "I know what you are." Purposely ignoring the bigot, Logan turned around on the stool, just hoping the fool would try something. He knew his wish had been granted when he saw the glint of light on metal. Before the man could drive his knife in to him, Logan lept up and pinned the man against the wall. Then he popped his claws.
12 inches of pure adamantium shot out from between each knuckle. Three razor sharp claws stabbed into the wall next to the man's head. Logan smirked at the fearful look on the man's face. Then he heard the gun cock. He turned his head just enough to see the terrified bartender pointing the rifle at him. "Get out of my bar, freak." Logan's eyes narrowed and he brought up the claws on his other hand quickly, cutting through the barrel of the gun as if it was tissue paper. Then, looking at the freaked out patrons and bartender, he retracted his claws and stalked out.
He didn't notice that the young boy was gone.
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Mortimer cowered in the small trailer, hugging his knees to his chest. He had ran out of the bar; the claws that had sprang from that man's hand had scared him. He had climbed in this trailer and pulled the tarp over his head, trying both to get somewhat warm and to conceal his presence. He had planned to stay in here until the driver reached a town. Shortly after he had hidden himself in the trailer, he saw the claw guy come out of the bar and climb in the truck that the trailer was attached to. He sighed shakily. 'I sure know how to pick my rides.' He thought sarcastically. Mortimer shivered and wrapped his arms tighter around his body.
He had ran away from the orphanage seven years ago. He had stayed in York for a few years, living on the streets and stealing what he needed to survive. He had hid on a plane and made his way to America. The United States turned out to be even worse than England in their treatment of mutants. His journey to Canada had consisted of hiking on foot and hiding in the backs of trucks. Mortimer looked down at his tiny body. He was starving to death, literally. But he could adapt. He had his whole life. Adapted to the fact that he would never receive any emotion but hate and fear. Adapted to the fact that no one wanted him. Adapted to the fact that he was stupid and worthless. Adapted...and survived.
Mortimer shook his head, trying to clear it. His heart suddenly leapt in his chest as he felt the trailer come to a stop. He was stopping. Why was the guy stopping? Did he know he was here? Mortimer shook his head again. 'Calm down. He's probably just getting something. Just clam down.' He didn't breath as he heard the snow-crunching footsteps near. The hard voice pounded down on him like a sledgehammer.
"Get out!"
He knew he was here.
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So, what do you think? Do you think I should continue? I probably will anyway, but I like hearing your opinions.
REVIEW!
I own nothing. Stan does. Although, I wish I did. *sigh*
________________________________________________
X-men- The Movie (Alternate Universe)
________________________________________________
York, England 1993
The walls of the dark room reached high, the ceiling hid by the shadows. Spiders crawled along the floor, seeking solace from the dim light. The dark was where they made their life. Where they found protection and invisibility. Where they were safe.
Mortimer Toynbee was like them in that way. The shadows were his haven. Where he was safe. Mortimer was a mutant. A hated, feared mutant. He had been living in this orphanage his entire life. And they had made him want to die.
He remembered the reactions of the children when he had, trying to escape them, jumped fifteen feet straight up into the rafters of the room. When he had struck out with his fifteen-foot tongue, pulling his tormenter's legs out from beneath him. The boy had cracked his head on the concrete floor. The sight of the boy's blood had plagued his dreams for countless night after. And when the one boy had spit on him when he was five. Not knowing better he had spit back at him. His toxic spit had coated the boy's face and suffocated him. The children's caretakers had beaten him for that. And when they were done, the children had their turn.
As the older kids came towards him, their expressions evil and hating, he had only one wish.
That they would kill him this time.
_________________________________________________
Alberta, Canada The not too distant future
The dim-lighted, rundown bar brought much needed relief for the patrons inside. Both from the heavy snow outside and their every day problems. The individuals with the most stress sat at the bar, drowning their sorrows in their beer and pouring their hearts out to the weary bartender.
Logan pulled his shirt and jacket back on as he exited the fighting cage. He stuffed the wad of bills he had won into his back pocket, sat down on a stool, and ordered a beer. His sharp eyes darted around, searching for any points of interest in the dank building. His attention was caught as a group of loud, foot-stomping truckers entered the tavern. Following at the back of the group was a short teenager. Logan couldn't tell whether they were male or female; the teenager was covered in layers of dark clothing and a hood covered his or her face.
The noise of the trucker's arrival had settled down and the bar returned to it's more depressing aura. Logan watched as the small form sat on the corner stool well away from everyone but Logan. Jim, the bartender asked the teen if there was anything he could get them, but the form shook it's hooded head and looked over at the wall. After a moment, the young person seemed to realize someone was staring at him. The hooded head turned and two large, bright eyes stared out from the concealing hood. Logan could make out just enough of the teen's face to tell the young person was male. Noticing Logan staring at him, the boy quickly turned his face away.
Shrugging, Logan looked down at his beer. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around, facing the angry face of one of the guys he fought earlier. The man sneered at him. "I think you owe me some money." His companion grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from Logan. "Come on Steve, let it go." The guy, Steve, shrugged his friend's hand off. " No man can take a beating like you did and not have a mark to show for it." Logan was becoming increasingly more agitated with this guy. "You lost your money, bub. Keep this up and you're gonna lose somethin' else." He growled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the scared eyes of the young man staring at them. He turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
The man leaned forward, a small smirk on his face, and whispered, "I know what you are." Purposely ignoring the bigot, Logan turned around on the stool, just hoping the fool would try something. He knew his wish had been granted when he saw the glint of light on metal. Before the man could drive his knife in to him, Logan lept up and pinned the man against the wall. Then he popped his claws.
12 inches of pure adamantium shot out from between each knuckle. Three razor sharp claws stabbed into the wall next to the man's head. Logan smirked at the fearful look on the man's face. Then he heard the gun cock. He turned his head just enough to see the terrified bartender pointing the rifle at him. "Get out of my bar, freak." Logan's eyes narrowed and he brought up the claws on his other hand quickly, cutting through the barrel of the gun as if it was tissue paper. Then, looking at the freaked out patrons and bartender, he retracted his claws and stalked out.
He didn't notice that the young boy was gone.
__________________________________________
Mortimer cowered in the small trailer, hugging his knees to his chest. He had ran out of the bar; the claws that had sprang from that man's hand had scared him. He had climbed in this trailer and pulled the tarp over his head, trying both to get somewhat warm and to conceal his presence. He had planned to stay in here until the driver reached a town. Shortly after he had hidden himself in the trailer, he saw the claw guy come out of the bar and climb in the truck that the trailer was attached to. He sighed shakily. 'I sure know how to pick my rides.' He thought sarcastically. Mortimer shivered and wrapped his arms tighter around his body.
He had ran away from the orphanage seven years ago. He had stayed in York for a few years, living on the streets and stealing what he needed to survive. He had hid on a plane and made his way to America. The United States turned out to be even worse than England in their treatment of mutants. His journey to Canada had consisted of hiking on foot and hiding in the backs of trucks. Mortimer looked down at his tiny body. He was starving to death, literally. But he could adapt. He had his whole life. Adapted to the fact that he would never receive any emotion but hate and fear. Adapted to the fact that no one wanted him. Adapted to the fact that he was stupid and worthless. Adapted...and survived.
Mortimer shook his head, trying to clear it. His heart suddenly leapt in his chest as he felt the trailer come to a stop. He was stopping. Why was the guy stopping? Did he know he was here? Mortimer shook his head again. 'Calm down. He's probably just getting something. Just clam down.' He didn't breath as he heard the snow-crunching footsteps near. The hard voice pounded down on him like a sledgehammer.
"Get out!"
He knew he was here.
_____________________________________________
So, what do you think? Do you think I should continue? I probably will anyway, but I like hearing your opinions.
REVIEW!