Title: Weapon of Choice
Rating: R (violence, sexual content, language )
Summary: Decade after PB - Vengeance and job opportunities mix for a mercenary. Riddick realizes he should've killed someone when he had the chance. (R/J)
Disclaimer: I seriously doubt there's a single original idea in this fic. But that's not what fanfics are for - purely fun intended. And if I failed at that, I blame the people who's ideas I stole - *ahem* - appropriated.
Author's Note: This story's for vickle-pickle. vunderbar friend and for sucking me into the PB-obsession. I blame you. ;) (Sorry, but there's no slash.)
When you're done here, go read and review "The Long, Hard Road to Home"
* * * * * * *
1.1.1.1.1.1.1 Weapon of Choice
Prologue
Introduction to bloodlust
Rain slid lazily over the streets, acridly etching a course. A burly figure slipped out from a hidden archway, sheltering himself under a thick, black coat. Everything was shadows. dark, wet and swelling with the scent of death. The man shuddered involuntarily. His gait was long and unstudied, but he moved faster than another man might hurry.
He didn't like being out like this. It wasn't the exposure he minded, the way his flanks were unprotected or the absence of a wall to lean against. The dark was something he even savoured. But this combination stirred memories that should be left unexamined.
He'd lost one woman on a night like this. Another, he'd thrown away.
"Food?" The sickly voice distracted him. A beggar sheltered under another arch, their belongings surrounding them like a fort. A hand pushed out from the coat, thrusting change towards the beggar. It whipped back quickly as a sliver of smoke left the acid burn on the otherwise flawless skin.
"Damn weather," he muttered huskily.
With the activation of a small remote, a ramp slid down on his path ahead. The turns in his path had led him back to the primitive spaceport. He stalked up the metal walkway and into his ship. Sighing, he whipped the coat away from his head, throwing it to the ground in a sizzling heap. Looking back, the daunting man stared into the sluiced street as the walkway lifted back up, sealing the ship. He wouldn't launch yet. Whoever had been stalking him would get cocky soon enough and, with any luck, might even come onboard.
An hour later, sprawled in the pilot's chair, he flipped on the ignition. The engines revved smoothly to life, expensively powerful machines. Gravity settled in ripples as the ship lifted off the planet's surface. Grinning to himself he leant towards the ship's intercom. The padded footfalls hadn't escaped his notice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have commenced our ascent and request you kindly take your seats, return your tray tables to the upright position and."
He swung the pilot's chair on a 180, coming face to face with.
Third-rate assassin, male, late 30s. Well, fuck that, he flicked the trigger on his handgun and the merc jerked back as he was hit. The plasma pulse wrenched into the merc's chest, shattering his ribcage, gushing blood across the floor as burnt flesh floated into the air.
"Refrain from smoking."
Riddick smirked and flicked his armchair around again.
Endless stars covered the viewscreen.
* * * * *
Maev sneered at the picture. The things that man did with intestines.
"Hotdog?"
She didn't bother to look up, held out a hand and Bates placed it in her palm. Stray sauce coated one finger and she sucked at it absentmindedly, still intent on the photos.
Bates settled down in the empty seat and leaned over.
"Whatcha lookin' ahh-" he paled slightly and placed his hotdog onto the table. Maev bit off a hunk and chewed it, while Bates looked at her in distaste.
"I like to think of myself as not completely jaded," he started.
"As opposed to. naïve, vulnerable. inept?" Maev taunted. She slid another photo behind the others and looked at the work of her assignment.
"It's not weak to have a shred of compassion," Bates argued.
A look of pained shock on the dead man's face seemed frozen for eternity, long after his body would rot.
"Is in this job," Maev bit off another hunk of her hotdog and chewed viciously, "It'll get you killed."
Bates' face crinkled slightly with something Maev couldn't discern. Sadness? Pity..?
"No," he slid back a picture of her assignment, "*This* will."
It was his turn to be confused. Usually inscrutable, her face was awash with emotion for the briefest moment in time. Before he could discern it, it was gone and the mask was back. Her eyes, deep green, still fixated on the face. It was an old photo, tinted with grey over the tanned skin of a prisoner. Like all Slammers, he was well-built - had to be to survive, tall, with a face that showed no interest, no hope.
"Riddick, Richard B," Bates whistled, "One sick, shiv-happy fuck."
Maev frowned, "Takes one to know one."
"I never denied it," the merc grinned cheesily, "C'mon, Maev, what do you want with this one? You don't have a death wish. You know what happens to mercs who headhunt Riddy-boy." The photos laid across the table amplified his point. Maev scraped them into her bag and finished off the last of her lunch.
"Happy hunting, Bates," she patted him on the shoulder and left.
Staring at the retreating figure Bates just shrugged. Someone must've upped the price on his head by a planet, or given her a frontal lobotomy.
Maybe she just had the balls to pull it off.
* * * * *
Rating: R (violence, sexual content, language )
Summary: Decade after PB - Vengeance and job opportunities mix for a mercenary. Riddick realizes he should've killed someone when he had the chance. (R/J)
Disclaimer: I seriously doubt there's a single original idea in this fic. But that's not what fanfics are for - purely fun intended. And if I failed at that, I blame the people who's ideas I stole - *ahem* - appropriated.
Author's Note: This story's for vickle-pickle. vunderbar friend and for sucking me into the PB-obsession. I blame you. ;) (Sorry, but there's no slash.)
When you're done here, go read and review "The Long, Hard Road to Home"
* * * * * * *
1.1.1.1.1.1.1 Weapon of Choice
Prologue
Introduction to bloodlust
Rain slid lazily over the streets, acridly etching a course. A burly figure slipped out from a hidden archway, sheltering himself under a thick, black coat. Everything was shadows. dark, wet and swelling with the scent of death. The man shuddered involuntarily. His gait was long and unstudied, but he moved faster than another man might hurry.
He didn't like being out like this. It wasn't the exposure he minded, the way his flanks were unprotected or the absence of a wall to lean against. The dark was something he even savoured. But this combination stirred memories that should be left unexamined.
He'd lost one woman on a night like this. Another, he'd thrown away.
"Food?" The sickly voice distracted him. A beggar sheltered under another arch, their belongings surrounding them like a fort. A hand pushed out from the coat, thrusting change towards the beggar. It whipped back quickly as a sliver of smoke left the acid burn on the otherwise flawless skin.
"Damn weather," he muttered huskily.
With the activation of a small remote, a ramp slid down on his path ahead. The turns in his path had led him back to the primitive spaceport. He stalked up the metal walkway and into his ship. Sighing, he whipped the coat away from his head, throwing it to the ground in a sizzling heap. Looking back, the daunting man stared into the sluiced street as the walkway lifted back up, sealing the ship. He wouldn't launch yet. Whoever had been stalking him would get cocky soon enough and, with any luck, might even come onboard.
An hour later, sprawled in the pilot's chair, he flipped on the ignition. The engines revved smoothly to life, expensively powerful machines. Gravity settled in ripples as the ship lifted off the planet's surface. Grinning to himself he leant towards the ship's intercom. The padded footfalls hadn't escaped his notice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have commenced our ascent and request you kindly take your seats, return your tray tables to the upright position and."
He swung the pilot's chair on a 180, coming face to face with.
Third-rate assassin, male, late 30s. Well, fuck that, he flicked the trigger on his handgun and the merc jerked back as he was hit. The plasma pulse wrenched into the merc's chest, shattering his ribcage, gushing blood across the floor as burnt flesh floated into the air.
"Refrain from smoking."
Riddick smirked and flicked his armchair around again.
Endless stars covered the viewscreen.
* * * * *
Maev sneered at the picture. The things that man did with intestines.
"Hotdog?"
She didn't bother to look up, held out a hand and Bates placed it in her palm. Stray sauce coated one finger and she sucked at it absentmindedly, still intent on the photos.
Bates settled down in the empty seat and leaned over.
"Whatcha lookin' ahh-" he paled slightly and placed his hotdog onto the table. Maev bit off a hunk and chewed it, while Bates looked at her in distaste.
"I like to think of myself as not completely jaded," he started.
"As opposed to. naïve, vulnerable. inept?" Maev taunted. She slid another photo behind the others and looked at the work of her assignment.
"It's not weak to have a shred of compassion," Bates argued.
A look of pained shock on the dead man's face seemed frozen for eternity, long after his body would rot.
"Is in this job," Maev bit off another hunk of her hotdog and chewed viciously, "It'll get you killed."
Bates' face crinkled slightly with something Maev couldn't discern. Sadness? Pity..?
"No," he slid back a picture of her assignment, "*This* will."
It was his turn to be confused. Usually inscrutable, her face was awash with emotion for the briefest moment in time. Before he could discern it, it was gone and the mask was back. Her eyes, deep green, still fixated on the face. It was an old photo, tinted with grey over the tanned skin of a prisoner. Like all Slammers, he was well-built - had to be to survive, tall, with a face that showed no interest, no hope.
"Riddick, Richard B," Bates whistled, "One sick, shiv-happy fuck."
Maev frowned, "Takes one to know one."
"I never denied it," the merc grinned cheesily, "C'mon, Maev, what do you want with this one? You don't have a death wish. You know what happens to mercs who headhunt Riddy-boy." The photos laid across the table amplified his point. Maev scraped them into her bag and finished off the last of her lunch.
"Happy hunting, Bates," she patted him on the shoulder and left.
Staring at the retreating figure Bates just shrugged. Someone must've upped the price on his head by a planet, or given her a frontal lobotomy.
Maybe she just had the balls to pull it off.
* * * * *
