LONELY SOLDIER GIRL : Test
By Dark Angel 98s
Disclaimer: Hey. I don't own any of the Marvel characters used here. I do however own Marie St.Clair. If you ever want to use her, cool. E-mail me and ask. I might just let ya. If ya don't, be warned. Wolvie has nothing on me in the angry pain fest department, *Pops his own claws* And I can track better too… As I always say, comments and positive suggestion are always welcome, and much desired. Flames however, can go to hell.
Authors notes follow the story. I know you can't wait for them. The anticipation of hearing a fan fic writers warped thoughts must be driving you mad… Sigh… Anyway… they are there, so read them if ya want. If not, oh well…
Lonely Soldier Girl
Smells were never like people though. They always interpreted them as simple, strait forward. To them, they smelled hot sweat, or fresh baked bread. They never noticed the little things, like the difference between a little less yeast, or a little more flower. Or the difference between exertion sweat, or that caused by fear…
The man she was following reeked of the latter. Tart, slightly sharp, tasting bitter and sour at the same time. She could just taste him on her tongue, even through the crowds. Her senses were both a blessing and a curse at times. As were her other 'gifts'. The faint thoughts and feelings she picked up from him were just as unpleasant as the rest. More so in fact. She saw why he had to die.
It was too bad the contract was very specific about how this was to be done. He was supposed to vanish. Just disappear without a trace. So she had to wait for the right time. For him to get away from the late night crowds that always seemed to linger in this part of New York. Then, and ONLY then, could she strike. It would be by bullet. She didn't want the stink of this man on her.
The man, short and lanky, dressed in a conservative, businesslike manor, stopped, brushing back his slightly too long black hair, and began scanning the street. She had no worries that he was looking for her. She was the best at what she did, and he had no idea anyone like her even knew he existed. She moved past him at a slow amble as he watched the crowds, looking for his next fix, his next victim. She passed within arms reach of him, not even glancing over. She didn't need to see him. This close, she could hear the tick of his watch, the faint electric hum of his cell phone, his heart beat, quick and steady, excited from the hunt, worried he might get caught again. She smells him, tasted the worry and fear, the lust. It took all her willpower not to vomit. Not to kill him right there. But that was unprofessional. Not her. She waited, walking past, and stopping a few dozen feet away, looking across the street.
After a moment, she felt a faint tap against her shoulder, and glanced to her left. A young woman, no more than fifteen if she was any guess. Her black hair was obviously styled quickly and without a brush, pulled down to form a frame against her pale face. Too much makeup, too little sun, and too hard of living made here seem almost haunting, like a ghost returned from the grave. Except this one came back dressed in thigh high boots, a tad to tight miniskirt, and was looking to turn tricks.
"S'cuse me. Looking for a little company?" Even though she was attractive, it was not looks that seemed draw her in. It was those eyes, dark green, shining like emeralds, even in the streetlights. And in them, she saw the hopelessness and lost the girl had felt, the hunger for simply a safe place to sleep for the night, a quick fix of whatever her drug of choice was. The simple tiredness of life. And her own past echoed those feeling, and she nearly cried…
*******************************************
April watched the strange woman looking at her like she was trying to see something two feet behind it. It figures that she would find a weirdo, wouldn't it. She had picked the woman because she looked like she had money. Expensive leather jacket, gray sweater, black leather pants, Bright red hair styled back in a pony-tail, bangs hanging down over a pair of silver wire frame glasses. She liked rich women, cause while they could be a little wild, they were also a lot kinder than the men.
The woman's eyes seemed to get all watery for a moment, then she shook her head. "Non, Petite… I don't want any company like that, tonight." Her accent sounded funny, like that girl that worked the corner a few blocks away. Where had she said she was from? Paris? She dismissed that line of thought quickly. It was not important.
"I do want that company though." Both of them turned and she found herself looking at a short man dressed like he had just left some kind of business meeting. He seemed a little ruffled, but in this part of town, she could understand that.
She looked back at the woman, who was staring at the man with something close to hate. What the hell was that all about? Did she know him? The man however, did not seem to notice, his eyes roaming all over her body, that look she knew all too well from men, lusting after her young flesh.
"Well, since your not interested…" She stepped around the odd lady, and moved to slip and arm through the mans, and smiled up at him. "Where we headed?"
"Anywhere…" He started to pull her along, leading her further up the street, arms removing hers, and sliding a hand around her shoulder. She ran her fingers across his chest, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute. Maybe he would be quick, as worked up as he was. She cast a quick glance behind her, and frowned. The woman had vanished, as if she had never been there. Doubt assaulted her for just a brief second, at her reaction to this man. But a buck was a buck, and maybe she wouldn't be on the streets tonight.
******************************************
She growled. Her anger flared up, and she was definitely one to loose it. It was in her blood, after all. The Animal. She was shadowing them for real now, unseen, moving with skills she had mastered from the Hand long ago. When the time came, she would kill him, with her hands alone. He WOULD disappear, because no one would be able to identify him once she was done.
The girl was an innocent, despite all she had done in this world. Sometimes life dealt you a bad hand, and you did what it took to survive. Just as she had. And this girl was going to survive, just as she had.
Her moment came, when her mark drug the girl into an alley. The girl was protesting, that they should get a room, but he was telling her he would pay extra, and that he just couldn't wait. Trust him. She growled again, taking to a fire escape and moving from roof to roof. She could not risk letting him know she was approaching, lest he run of harm the girl.
Finally, in a bend in the alley they were in, he pressed her up against the wall, hands roaming young flesh, slipping beneath cloth, touching bare, hot skin. Other hand drawing steel, cold, hard, and gleaming under the faint city light. A he moves even as she takes to the air, uncaring if she is three stories up, falling like an angel of death, hearing as steel cuts flesh, the wet sound of his lips pressing against to hers and her muffled cries. The smell, the taste of blood filling the night air with it's dark crimson scent. She never hits him though, as something seems to knock her from the air, white hot pain hitting her even through the Rage.
Her world spun, and she blacked out as she impacted, well trained instinct the only reason she landed without breaking her fool neck. Instead, bones snapped and she slammed head on into a series of trash cans.
*******************************************
Sabertooth growled as he landed. Whoever the frail was, she sure as fuck wasn't the Runt. He had smelled her, and for a moment their scents had been the same. When he saw the form dropping for the roof above him, he had reacted. Ripped her guts out, even as he realized his mistake. He brought his hand up, and ran one blood drenched claw across his lips, tasting her. Even that was similar but not the same to Logan's. Who was she? Did not matter really. She was dead, and he had other worries. Like where the X-men were.
The whore he had seen getting gutter herself, was trying to stagger away, leaning on the wall heavily. The john was already running down the street at full speed, racing into the night. No consequence. Let him run. He certainly would not interfere. But maybe the whore could be of some use. A tasty little treat. Too bad he had to taste and run.
He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her off of her feet, and holding her before him. Blood ran down, and he smiled, inhaling, drinking in the sensation. "I'll be quick, Frail. No time to do more than sample the goods. Not that ya have long, no ways." His fangs gleamed in the light, and his hand raised back.
"CREED!!!" The challenge came from two sides at once. Logan's voice from the alleys entrance. The Runt had found him. But the other was a surprise. He glanced over, and found the woman he had thought dead or dying, not only in the land of the living, but standing, a huge pistol in hand, body wavering, but from what he could tell, her aim wasn't.
"How do you know me, girl?" He should be running, but something in his mind was ticking, trying to put a memory together.
"You… YOU!!! You killed my mother you bastard!!! Left me for dead… I… I…" She staggered, nearly falling.
Creed heard Logan coming, running full bore, and decided that it was time to move on. He did not even bother killing the slut in his hands. She was dead anyway. He just dropped her, and vaulted up to the fire escape he had jumped from, and climbed. He had other things on his mind, than fighting his old enemy at the moment. He had killed so many in his time, that all of them seemed to blur together. But that girls scent reminded him of something, from a very LONG time ago, and he wanted to remember what, before he killed her. It made it sweeter, knowing that.
At least his escape was, assured. Those X-boobs would never ditch those two down there, just to get at him….
***************************************
Logan had found the two girls, surrounded by Creeds scent. Had they not been still breathing, he would have continued the chase. But these two needed help. He couldn't leave women to die.
The one nearest the alley was in bad shape, but the cut, which did not look like Creed's work, being to neat, missed vital organs, and if she got help, would most likely survive.
The other, as he approached her, was kneeling on the ground, blood pooled everywhere, things that should stay inside the body peeking out. He had no hopes for her. The only thing he could do was pray the others got here fast, and evacked.
He approached her slowly, noting she still had strength to hold onto that gun of hers. He did not need any accidents right now. She heard him coming, and looked up, arm trying to raise the gun, to protect herself. As their eyes met, Logan gasp. Memories he had forgotten suddenly hit him, like a freight train, and he fell to his own knees, gasping for breath. It couldn't be. Not after all these years… And he had buried her himself. 60 years ago. "Angie?"
She smiled at him, and shook her head slowly, almost sadly. "No… It…it's.. me… Poppa…" She fell backwards, limp, eyes glazing over, but she never hit the ground, because he was there, arms wrapping around her, screaming out for help…
AUTHORS NOTES!!!
What the hell is this, you might ask? Logan has a daughter? Sabertooth killed her mother? Did I say her mother died 60 years ago? I sure did. Odd huh?
This was just a test, to see if anyone liked the idea. If ya do, then review, and tell me. Even if ya don't review, and tell me. If you want more, I'll write more. Forgive any errors. No proof reading. Just sat down and did it. Others will have a beta reader. So. If you want me, the review damn you!!!
By Dark Angel 98s
Disclaimer: Hey. I don't own any of the Marvel characters used here. I do however own Marie St.Clair. If you ever want to use her, cool. E-mail me and ask. I might just let ya. If ya don't, be warned. Wolvie has nothing on me in the angry pain fest department, *Pops his own claws* And I can track better too… As I always say, comments and positive suggestion are always welcome, and much desired. Flames however, can go to hell.
Authors notes follow the story. I know you can't wait for them. The anticipation of hearing a fan fic writers warped thoughts must be driving you mad… Sigh… Anyway… they are there, so read them if ya want. If not, oh well…
Lonely Soldier Girl
Smells were never like people though. They always interpreted them as simple, strait forward. To them, they smelled hot sweat, or fresh baked bread. They never noticed the little things, like the difference between a little less yeast, or a little more flower. Or the difference between exertion sweat, or that caused by fear…
The man she was following reeked of the latter. Tart, slightly sharp, tasting bitter and sour at the same time. She could just taste him on her tongue, even through the crowds. Her senses were both a blessing and a curse at times. As were her other 'gifts'. The faint thoughts and feelings she picked up from him were just as unpleasant as the rest. More so in fact. She saw why he had to die.
It was too bad the contract was very specific about how this was to be done. He was supposed to vanish. Just disappear without a trace. So she had to wait for the right time. For him to get away from the late night crowds that always seemed to linger in this part of New York. Then, and ONLY then, could she strike. It would be by bullet. She didn't want the stink of this man on her.
The man, short and lanky, dressed in a conservative, businesslike manor, stopped, brushing back his slightly too long black hair, and began scanning the street. She had no worries that he was looking for her. She was the best at what she did, and he had no idea anyone like her even knew he existed. She moved past him at a slow amble as he watched the crowds, looking for his next fix, his next victim. She passed within arms reach of him, not even glancing over. She didn't need to see him. This close, she could hear the tick of his watch, the faint electric hum of his cell phone, his heart beat, quick and steady, excited from the hunt, worried he might get caught again. She smells him, tasted the worry and fear, the lust. It took all her willpower not to vomit. Not to kill him right there. But that was unprofessional. Not her. She waited, walking past, and stopping a few dozen feet away, looking across the street.
After a moment, she felt a faint tap against her shoulder, and glanced to her left. A young woman, no more than fifteen if she was any guess. Her black hair was obviously styled quickly and without a brush, pulled down to form a frame against her pale face. Too much makeup, too little sun, and too hard of living made here seem almost haunting, like a ghost returned from the grave. Except this one came back dressed in thigh high boots, a tad to tight miniskirt, and was looking to turn tricks.
"S'cuse me. Looking for a little company?" Even though she was attractive, it was not looks that seemed draw her in. It was those eyes, dark green, shining like emeralds, even in the streetlights. And in them, she saw the hopelessness and lost the girl had felt, the hunger for simply a safe place to sleep for the night, a quick fix of whatever her drug of choice was. The simple tiredness of life. And her own past echoed those feeling, and she nearly cried…
*******************************************
April watched the strange woman looking at her like she was trying to see something two feet behind it. It figures that she would find a weirdo, wouldn't it. She had picked the woman because she looked like she had money. Expensive leather jacket, gray sweater, black leather pants, Bright red hair styled back in a pony-tail, bangs hanging down over a pair of silver wire frame glasses. She liked rich women, cause while they could be a little wild, they were also a lot kinder than the men.
The woman's eyes seemed to get all watery for a moment, then she shook her head. "Non, Petite… I don't want any company like that, tonight." Her accent sounded funny, like that girl that worked the corner a few blocks away. Where had she said she was from? Paris? She dismissed that line of thought quickly. It was not important.
"I do want that company though." Both of them turned and she found herself looking at a short man dressed like he had just left some kind of business meeting. He seemed a little ruffled, but in this part of town, she could understand that.
She looked back at the woman, who was staring at the man with something close to hate. What the hell was that all about? Did she know him? The man however, did not seem to notice, his eyes roaming all over her body, that look she knew all too well from men, lusting after her young flesh.
"Well, since your not interested…" She stepped around the odd lady, and moved to slip and arm through the mans, and smiled up at him. "Where we headed?"
"Anywhere…" He started to pull her along, leading her further up the street, arms removing hers, and sliding a hand around her shoulder. She ran her fingers across his chest, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute. Maybe he would be quick, as worked up as he was. She cast a quick glance behind her, and frowned. The woman had vanished, as if she had never been there. Doubt assaulted her for just a brief second, at her reaction to this man. But a buck was a buck, and maybe she wouldn't be on the streets tonight.
******************************************
She growled. Her anger flared up, and she was definitely one to loose it. It was in her blood, after all. The Animal. She was shadowing them for real now, unseen, moving with skills she had mastered from the Hand long ago. When the time came, she would kill him, with her hands alone. He WOULD disappear, because no one would be able to identify him once she was done.
The girl was an innocent, despite all she had done in this world. Sometimes life dealt you a bad hand, and you did what it took to survive. Just as she had. And this girl was going to survive, just as she had.
Her moment came, when her mark drug the girl into an alley. The girl was protesting, that they should get a room, but he was telling her he would pay extra, and that he just couldn't wait. Trust him. She growled again, taking to a fire escape and moving from roof to roof. She could not risk letting him know she was approaching, lest he run of harm the girl.
Finally, in a bend in the alley they were in, he pressed her up against the wall, hands roaming young flesh, slipping beneath cloth, touching bare, hot skin. Other hand drawing steel, cold, hard, and gleaming under the faint city light. A he moves even as she takes to the air, uncaring if she is three stories up, falling like an angel of death, hearing as steel cuts flesh, the wet sound of his lips pressing against to hers and her muffled cries. The smell, the taste of blood filling the night air with it's dark crimson scent. She never hits him though, as something seems to knock her from the air, white hot pain hitting her even through the Rage.
Her world spun, and she blacked out as she impacted, well trained instinct the only reason she landed without breaking her fool neck. Instead, bones snapped and she slammed head on into a series of trash cans.
*******************************************
Sabertooth growled as he landed. Whoever the frail was, she sure as fuck wasn't the Runt. He had smelled her, and for a moment their scents had been the same. When he saw the form dropping for the roof above him, he had reacted. Ripped her guts out, even as he realized his mistake. He brought his hand up, and ran one blood drenched claw across his lips, tasting her. Even that was similar but not the same to Logan's. Who was she? Did not matter really. She was dead, and he had other worries. Like where the X-men were.
The whore he had seen getting gutter herself, was trying to stagger away, leaning on the wall heavily. The john was already running down the street at full speed, racing into the night. No consequence. Let him run. He certainly would not interfere. But maybe the whore could be of some use. A tasty little treat. Too bad he had to taste and run.
He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her off of her feet, and holding her before him. Blood ran down, and he smiled, inhaling, drinking in the sensation. "I'll be quick, Frail. No time to do more than sample the goods. Not that ya have long, no ways." His fangs gleamed in the light, and his hand raised back.
"CREED!!!" The challenge came from two sides at once. Logan's voice from the alleys entrance. The Runt had found him. But the other was a surprise. He glanced over, and found the woman he had thought dead or dying, not only in the land of the living, but standing, a huge pistol in hand, body wavering, but from what he could tell, her aim wasn't.
"How do you know me, girl?" He should be running, but something in his mind was ticking, trying to put a memory together.
"You… YOU!!! You killed my mother you bastard!!! Left me for dead… I… I…" She staggered, nearly falling.
Creed heard Logan coming, running full bore, and decided that it was time to move on. He did not even bother killing the slut in his hands. She was dead anyway. He just dropped her, and vaulted up to the fire escape he had jumped from, and climbed. He had other things on his mind, than fighting his old enemy at the moment. He had killed so many in his time, that all of them seemed to blur together. But that girls scent reminded him of something, from a very LONG time ago, and he wanted to remember what, before he killed her. It made it sweeter, knowing that.
At least his escape was, assured. Those X-boobs would never ditch those two down there, just to get at him….
***************************************
Logan had found the two girls, surrounded by Creeds scent. Had they not been still breathing, he would have continued the chase. But these two needed help. He couldn't leave women to die.
The one nearest the alley was in bad shape, but the cut, which did not look like Creed's work, being to neat, missed vital organs, and if she got help, would most likely survive.
The other, as he approached her, was kneeling on the ground, blood pooled everywhere, things that should stay inside the body peeking out. He had no hopes for her. The only thing he could do was pray the others got here fast, and evacked.
He approached her slowly, noting she still had strength to hold onto that gun of hers. He did not need any accidents right now. She heard him coming, and looked up, arm trying to raise the gun, to protect herself. As their eyes met, Logan gasp. Memories he had forgotten suddenly hit him, like a freight train, and he fell to his own knees, gasping for breath. It couldn't be. Not after all these years… And he had buried her himself. 60 years ago. "Angie?"
She smiled at him, and shook her head slowly, almost sadly. "No… It…it's.. me… Poppa…" She fell backwards, limp, eyes glazing over, but she never hit the ground, because he was there, arms wrapping around her, screaming out for help…
AUTHORS NOTES!!!
What the hell is this, you might ask? Logan has a daughter? Sabertooth killed her mother? Did I say her mother died 60 years ago? I sure did. Odd huh?
This was just a test, to see if anyone liked the idea. If ya do, then review, and tell me. Even if ya don't review, and tell me. If you want more, I'll write more. Forgive any errors. No proof reading. Just sat down and did it. Others will have a beta reader. So. If you want me, the review damn you!!!