Author: Chippewa Livingston
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment:
18. Heart to heart.
"Where are you staying now?" This was my third repeat of the same question, although I hadn't used exactly those word the last two times.
"I told you. Friends." Lucid was pouting again.
"Where's that?" I asked. Mitzi arrived with a glass of milk, which I took, and another bowl of soup.
"What are you? Some kind of cop?"
"No, I'm just trying to keep you from being road-kill. If we take you back to your friends, maybe tomorrow will work out better for you." I tried to remember why I'd tried to keep her from getting beaten up. I was starting to feel a real sympathy for a couple of people.
"Nice try." She tasted the soup. "They are almost as bad as my parents."
"Do you think there might be a common factor?" I was starting to wonder how long it would take for the glow to go out if I strangled her, right now.
"What?" The green lines above her eyebrows knit together.
"Never mind." I stood up, and almost knocked over a couple of mops.
"I don't want to go back there," Lucid said firmly. "I want to go home with you."
I had a sudden vision of the three of us fighting over one mattress in a dirty fourth-floor excuse for an apartment. "I don't think so."
"I'm not a little girl," she sniffled. "I'm just as grown up as SHE is." Lucid tossed her head in the direction of the dining room, and 'Roxanne.'
"Nobody's saying you're a little girl." I tried to figure out if I had any hope of making a rational argument at this point. "I'm just saying . . ."
"You're just saying that I'm too young, and I don't know what I want." She dropped the bowl and got to her feet. "I'll show you!" She tugged her sweater off over her head.
My first impression: she is so too young, and too bony. I could count ribs, if I cared. The swirls of green from her face extended down her neck, under her bra, and met another green design around her navel. (Don't tell me I've got a double standard. Just because you can see my ribs, doesn't mean that it looks good to me on someone else.)
"That's enough." I used my best drill-instructor voice. "Put the shirt back."
"No!" They could probably hear us from the dining room. 'Roxanne' was going to check in any minute. X-5s have good hearing.
"You! Shirt. Wear it!" I snarled. I wondered exactly what I'd done to deserve this. I'd heard about karma. Maybe transgenics weren't exempt, after all.
"I actually think she looks fine," said a voice from just outside the open back door. He stepped inside, preceded by a large chrome-plated handgun, with the safety off. His two friends followed. They all shared a common fashion theme: firearms, and navy-blue ski masks.
"Where's the cash?" asked the leader calmly, as he scanned the kitchen.
Something caught his eye. I turned to look. 'Roxanne' and Mitzi were standing in the doorway.
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment:
18. Heart to heart.
"Where are you staying now?" This was my third repeat of the same question, although I hadn't used exactly those word the last two times.
"I told you. Friends." Lucid was pouting again.
"Where's that?" I asked. Mitzi arrived with a glass of milk, which I took, and another bowl of soup.
"What are you? Some kind of cop?"
"No, I'm just trying to keep you from being road-kill. If we take you back to your friends, maybe tomorrow will work out better for you." I tried to remember why I'd tried to keep her from getting beaten up. I was starting to feel a real sympathy for a couple of people.
"Nice try." She tasted the soup. "They are almost as bad as my parents."
"Do you think there might be a common factor?" I was starting to wonder how long it would take for the glow to go out if I strangled her, right now.
"What?" The green lines above her eyebrows knit together.
"Never mind." I stood up, and almost knocked over a couple of mops.
"I don't want to go back there," Lucid said firmly. "I want to go home with you."
I had a sudden vision of the three of us fighting over one mattress in a dirty fourth-floor excuse for an apartment. "I don't think so."
"I'm not a little girl," she sniffled. "I'm just as grown up as SHE is." Lucid tossed her head in the direction of the dining room, and 'Roxanne.'
"Nobody's saying you're a little girl." I tried to figure out if I had any hope of making a rational argument at this point. "I'm just saying . . ."
"You're just saying that I'm too young, and I don't know what I want." She dropped the bowl and got to her feet. "I'll show you!" She tugged her sweater off over her head.
My first impression: she is so too young, and too bony. I could count ribs, if I cared. The swirls of green from her face extended down her neck, under her bra, and met another green design around her navel. (Don't tell me I've got a double standard. Just because you can see my ribs, doesn't mean that it looks good to me on someone else.)
"That's enough." I used my best drill-instructor voice. "Put the shirt back."
"No!" They could probably hear us from the dining room. 'Roxanne' was going to check in any minute. X-5s have good hearing.
"You! Shirt. Wear it!" I snarled. I wondered exactly what I'd done to deserve this. I'd heard about karma. Maybe transgenics weren't exempt, after all.
"I actually think she looks fine," said a voice from just outside the open back door. He stepped inside, preceded by a large chrome-plated handgun, with the safety off. His two friends followed. They all shared a common fashion theme: firearms, and navy-blue ski masks.
"Where's the cash?" asked the leader calmly, as he scanned the kitchen.
Something caught his eye. I turned to look. 'Roxanne' and Mitzi were standing in the doorway.