Hello everyone. Me again, posting the seventh chapter. I really didn't think this fic would be this long. After I get it all posted I'll probably combine the smaller chapters. I plan to end this in two chapters or less, and then I'll post my next fic, which is almost finished itself. I promised myself I wouldn't post anymore "in progress" stories. It takes too much effort to finish them, whereas if I write it all before posting, I have motivation to finish it, and that's the anticipation of posting.
Anyway, I just realized that I made Ororo a pickpocket in this fic while she's a car thief in Ultimate. I wanted this fic to be a prequel to the comic. So can y'all just ignore my lil' mistake please? Thank ya kindly.
I know Victor is super chillin' (reiteration: not as crazy and wild and feral as he is in all other comics, cartoons, movies, fanfiction, etc.) in this fic. I'm really annoyed with that.
That's it for the notes. The reason why I made them so long is because I loooove reading the messages from the authors at the beginnings and ends of fics. I know there is someone else out there like me. So these notes are for you. The rest of you can just skip them from now on.
Part VII
Ororo came home to an empty apartment. She tossed her jacket onto one of the bar stools, and flopped onto the ratty old couch, where she fell asleep.
No more than twenty minutes later Victor turned his key in the door, and made a beeline for the bathroom.
He went straight for the fully stocked fridge. That was another thing about life with the kid.
She loved to shop. Be it in the mall, or at the grocery store.
He grabbed a few sodas (she was only seventeen), and a bag of pork rinds, and sat down next to her on the couch.
He turned on the tv and looked for something to watch.
Twenty minutes later the television was tuned to Saturday Night Live, but Victor wasn't paying any attention to who or what it was Chris Katan was making fun of.
In fact his back was to the television.
He was standing over her clenching and unclenching his hands.
She smelled like sweat -- like prey minus the fear. That combined with the sound of her heartbeat, and the way she looked laying there asleep was maddening.
He didn't know if he wanted to jump her, or put his claws to use.
So he'd do both.
Ororo groggily opened her eyes at the sound of growling.
"What? Was I snoring?"
"..."
"Victor?"
"..."
She sat up, "Victor, you're giving me the creeps."
The growling stopped.
"You were snoring, and you stink. Take a bath." She'd better, because she was about two and a half seconds away from discovering his real intentions.
She grinned.
"I'm serious."
"Do I really smell that bad?"
"Yeah."
She crossed her hands over her chest putting a hand in each armpit, then pulled them out quickly and putting them to her nose. "I've smelled worse."
He quelled his laughter to a smirk. He turned it into a sneer.
"Don't be so stiff, Victor. I know you want to laugh."
Victor turned and went into the bathroom. Ororo heard the sound of water running.
He came back out to stand in front of her again.
She angled her head to the side, curiously.
"Do I have to force you?" He said after a minute.
She smiled widely, and nodded quickly.
Victor rolled his eyes, then bent down and tossed her over his shoulder, his arm secured over the backs of her knees.
"Shit, Victor! I did not know you were actually going to force me!" She yelled through his back, kicking her legs.
He kicked open the bathroom door, and dumped her in the tub, clothes and all.
"That was a long fa-, " she was cut off when Victor pushed her head back under the water. She came up splashing and sputtering.
"You jackass!"
"Foul mouth." He leaned over her to grab a bottle of some kind of blue bath crap that she liked to use from the other side of the tub. He opened it and turned it upside down, squeezing it out and aiming for her mouth (which she'd let drop open with shock), but missing sometimes and getting it into her hair and in the water.
He emptied the bottle onto a blue fluffy scrubber thing, and threw it at her.
"Wash up, or do I have to force you to do that too."
He left the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, shutting the door behind him.
He sat back down. The sweaty trace of Ororo's scent was nothing compared to the strong stink of the couch.
There was a light knock at the door.
Victor went over to it carefully, and sniffed.
He opened the door, "Remy."
"Se que nouvelle, minet?" *What's new, pussycat?*
"You wanna tell me what you want before I break your french-fried neck?"
Remy threw up his hands, "No need for the hostility, mon ami." He slid by Victor, and hopped on a stool at the counter. "Is the food at that bar & grill on 'da corner any good?"
Victor stalked over to him ready to make good on his threat.
"I'm here to offer you a job."
"What kind of job?"
"Only the best for you, Vic. Lots of blood."
"Lower your voice."
"Why you got a fille in 'dere?" He asked gleefully, jumping off the counter, "Lemme see!" He stopped, then said uneasily, "Wait, she ain't chained up, or half-dead or nothin', is she?"
"What's the job, Lebeau?"
"Oh you gon' treat ol' Remy that way, henh?" He shrugged, "Sinister needs you to do some dirty work."
"What's in it for me?" Victor asked into the can he was about to drink from.
"Never thought you a Coke drinking man. I prefer Pepsi, myself." He stalled digging in to a bag of plain chips on the counter.
Victor finished off the soda and crushed it threateningly.
"He'll pay you his usual fee, and a large bonus."
"No."
Remy choked on the handful of chips he'd just put in his mouth. "No?"
"No."
"What do you mean 'No.'?"
"Look, Lebeau. I don't need money. This frail steals all the money I need."
"I can' just go back to him wit'out you. He requested you specifically."
"Tough shit, kid. Get out."
Remy hopped off of the stool, "I'll be back with Essex 's next offer."
"Tell 'im if he don't make it good, I'm gonna kill his Cajun gofer." Victor slammed the door in his face.
It wasn't that he didn't want to do the job (hell, he'd do it for free), but if he could satisfy his murderous urges and get something else out of it he would.
By the time Ororo came out of the bathroom they were both hungry.
She found the number for a pizza place, and dialed.
"Who was at the door?" she asked, waiting for the phone to be answered.
Victor answered her without so much as a stutter, "Solicitors."
"What were they--Hello, I would like a medium pizza with mushrooms and peppers."
Victor cleared his throat soundly.
"Yes, that's all." She purposely ignored him.
He suddenly went into a violent coughing fit.
She rolled her eyes, "I'm sorry. No, that's not all. Give me an extra-large with sausage, pepperoni, ground beef, and any other meat topping you have."
She gave the address and hung up.
Twenty minutes later they sat in front of their separate boxes of pizza, eating in silence.
After two slices Ororo closed her box and curled up into the one corner of the small couch, watching Victor swallow piece after piece.
When he was down to his last piece he held it up by the crust, and offered it to her.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
He shrugged, muttering, "That's why yer so scrawny now."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I am not scrawny. I'm lean."
"Oh, that's what you call it."
"You Americans eat way too much, is all. So by comparison you think everyone else is starving."
He closed his box, and eyed hers. "You gonna eat the rest of that?"
"Take it."
