Claws and Coffee Rings
Fandom: X-Men.
Author: Unanon
Character: Victor Creed aka Sabretooth
Rating: Very Low considering the character.
~~~~~
Waitin' around for people makes me nervous, but it ain't like I got much else I can do. Job's a job, y'know.and the people who employ me tend to get mighty pissed off when things aren't settled clean and simple-like.
At least I can stake out my next hit from a position of relative comfort. Diner's a little on the dingy side: ancient coffee rings and dead flies on the windowsill. Dust on the crumbling old venetian blinds makes my enhanced-senses nose want to sneeze alla the time; makes my eyes all watery when I hold 'em in. I never sneeze in public. It takes away from my aura of menace if I sneeze.
S'nice having people give me some extra space, y'know. Every time the bell on the door jingles all I have to do is look up and meet the newcomer's eyes. No one's come anywhere near my corner booth except for Dotty, the waitress. At least she comes regular-like to give my coffee-cup a warm-up. I'll have to leave her a good tip.
It's weird what goes through my head waitin' for my mark. After the first couple hours I start makin' up stories 'bout the other people in the diner to keep myself entertained. Dotty used to be an aspiring actress. I can see it in the redness of her cheap lipstick, in her flacid breasts that bounce against her ribcage under her apron. She walks like she used to wear high heels alla time, on the balls of her feet inside her orthopedic sneakers.
Sam, the cook, wrote a novel once, but only sent it to one publisher. He keeps the wrinkled old manuscript in his nightstand next to his gun and a hopeful ancient box of condoms. Every once in a while he'll pull it out and remove a slip of paper from between the stained pages. He cries himself to sleep every time he re-reads the rejection letter.
I never make up very happy stories. Ain't in my nature.
Dotty creaks toward my corner for the fourth time this evening. "Y'need anything else, hun?" I let her pour me another cup of coffee and order a steak. I'm in no rush. My mark's already late, and all that's waitin' for him is a painful, slow death on my claws. There's a good chance I'll finish eating before he arrives.
~fin~
Character: Victor Creed aka Sabretooth
Rating: Very Low considering the character.
~~~~~
Waitin' around for people makes me nervous, but it ain't like I got much else I can do. Job's a job, y'know.and the people who employ me tend to get mighty pissed off when things aren't settled clean and simple-like.
At least I can stake out my next hit from a position of relative comfort. Diner's a little on the dingy side: ancient coffee rings and dead flies on the windowsill. Dust on the crumbling old venetian blinds makes my enhanced-senses nose want to sneeze alla the time; makes my eyes all watery when I hold 'em in. I never sneeze in public. It takes away from my aura of menace if I sneeze.
S'nice having people give me some extra space, y'know. Every time the bell on the door jingles all I have to do is look up and meet the newcomer's eyes. No one's come anywhere near my corner booth except for Dotty, the waitress. At least she comes regular-like to give my coffee-cup a warm-up. I'll have to leave her a good tip.
It's weird what goes through my head waitin' for my mark. After the first couple hours I start makin' up stories 'bout the other people in the diner to keep myself entertained. Dotty used to be an aspiring actress. I can see it in the redness of her cheap lipstick, in her flacid breasts that bounce against her ribcage under her apron. She walks like she used to wear high heels alla time, on the balls of her feet inside her orthopedic sneakers.
Sam, the cook, wrote a novel once, but only sent it to one publisher. He keeps the wrinkled old manuscript in his nightstand next to his gun and a hopeful ancient box of condoms. Every once in a while he'll pull it out and remove a slip of paper from between the stained pages. He cries himself to sleep every time he re-reads the rejection letter.
I never make up very happy stories. Ain't in my nature.
Dotty creaks toward my corner for the fourth time this evening. "Y'need anything else, hun?" I let her pour me another cup of coffee and order a steak. I'm in no rush. My mark's already late, and all that's waitin' for him is a painful, slow death on my claws. There's a good chance I'll finish eating before he arrives.
~fin~