Ma Soleil
Chapter Nine: Dinner Plans
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
Creed lay on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, watching his girlfriend write herself a Danger Room Program. She had just gotten back from her workout, and, as she had gotten bored with the standard Sims, she had decided to make herself a "real" challenge. Suddenly, she turned, her deep brown eyes knifing into his.
"Victor?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I don't feel very well."
"Do ya mean physically, or. . ."
"There's something tearing at my shields. Victor!" Monet's voice suddenly rose an octave, and she clutched at her head, falling from her office chair. In less time than it took to tell, Creed had leapt to his feet and was at her side.
"What's wrong? Who is it?" he panicked when she went limp in his arms. "Damn it, Monet! Wake up, beautiful! Fuck!"
Her eyelids fluttered open. "I'm. . .I'm all right. It was just a momentary attack."
"Who was it?"
"I'm not sure. I don't. . .I don't know. They were shielded so well. . ."
"Was it a package?" he inquired, referring to a conventional psionic attack tactic utilized by non-psis, wherein years of emotional or physical anguish are "packaged" and hurled at the victim's mind.
"No," Monet shook her head weakly. "Whoever it was could not have been mindblind. They knew what they were doing too well."
"An' what were they doin'?"
"They weren't scanning for information so much as tearing through my shields. Just to hurt me."
"Ya couldn't tell who it was?"
"No. I. . .I think it was a woman. But I'm not sure. There was so much violent backwash that it couldn't have been. I think it was a man. But you scarcely sense so much pain in a man. They get over emotional distress fairly quickly, and they don't use their own pain against an opponent. It must have been a woman."
"Or a pansy."
Monet cuffed her lover over the head lightly. "You are incorrigible."
"But ya love me anyhow?"
"Of course."
"Where'd I be without ya?"
"Unhappily married to an aging mercenary."
"Hey. That agin' mercenary's at least two years younger'n you. An' our marriage wasn't a COMPLETE disaster. There were some good times."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"If you mean sex, that doesn't qualify."
"There was bondin', though, too. Not nearly as much as we did, but. . .there were good times. Fun times."
"For example?"
"I ain't tellin' my woman 'bout my ex-wife. Why the hell should I?"
"Because every relationship is built on honesty. If there is no honesty, there can be no meaningful relationship."
"Fine, if it means that much to ya." Victor shrugged, easing Monet onto the bed beside him, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her long hair. "Well, fer instance, when Beck was feelin' exceptionally flirty, we used ta tussle, friendly-like. There were a lot o' late-night conversations, cause we were both on-an'-off insomniacs. 'Sides, our jobs went late."
"What sorts of things did you talk about, then?"
"Life. Blood. Never our relationship."
"Why not?"
"Mostly 'cause she resented th' fact that we were in a relationship at all."
"Oh." Monet shifted in his arms, and straddled him, so she could look into his eyes. "So why DID you have a relationship, then?"
"'Cause it was th' best way ta protect her."
"From what? Her patron is Mr. Sinister, for crying out loud!"
"That name don't carry too much weight in th' merc world, an' Beck wanted ta be a merc. Sure, Essex learned 'er up good an' proper, so's she could cook up a clone in five minutes'r so, but she wanted ta kick butt."
"So you married her so people would be afraid of her?"
"Yeah. That too."
"What else?"
"I guess. . ." he sighed, averted his eyes from Monet's. "I thought I loved her fer a bit. Not just a bit. Fer a long time. Ever since she was jest a pup, I felt like I needed ta protect her. She was always so small, ya know?"
"Victor, everything's small to you." Monet lifted a brow suggestively, hoping to lighten the mood. But her lover only sighed.
"Yeah."
"So your name is well-respected in the mercenary community?"
"More like well-feared."
"And if a mercenary is feared, their relations are, as well?"
"Not just that. I always get the job done, no matter what. I had a good rep. Mercs knew I was good, an' th' ones what hire mercs knew I was th' best. They hear th' name Creed, they automatically think quality."
"Ah, that might have been your service logo. 'Creed means quality.'"
"Sounds too much like Graydon's banner."
"That's right. 'Creed means equality.'"
A pained look came to Victor's eyes, but was rapidly extinguished. "Yeah. Hey, you up fer a date tonight?"
"Sure. Where are we going?"
"Th' Four Seasons."
XXX
"Damn you, Nathaniel."
"Well, you were correct."
"Damn straight I was. Vic cares about her more than you can ever truthfully say he cared about me. That tiny attack was enough to send him into pre-cardial arrest."
"As if Creed were capable of such distress."
"He IS capable of it."
"All right, I'll give him that."
"I'm never acting on another of your silly hypotheses again!" Rebecca tugged the baseball cap further down over her eyes and stalked away from Sinister.
"It was an experiment. You damaged Miss St. Croix's shields the perfect amount for her to panic, and not enough to cause any real damage, if only to find out what Creed's reaction to it would be. And you know that he loves her."
"Well, thank you for helping me state the obvious. If he ever finds out that I did that. . ."
"He won't." Sinister interrupted her. "He won't."
"Why are you so sure?"
"You know, you really DO look a mess."
"Nice try changing the subject."
"The subject was paining you. I didn't feel as though it were necessary to put you through any further turbulence of mind."
"How solicitous of you." She smiled an ersatz smile.
"Why don't we go shopping."
"Now you're REALLY desperate. Where do you suggest we go?"
"Fifth Avenue, my love."
"Why?"
"Because we're going out for dinner tonight."
"Excuse me? Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! I certainly hope you aren't formulating the same plan in your devious little mind as I believe you are formulating."
"Oh, but I am."
"I'm not going."
"Oh, come now! What woman could resist an evening on Nathaniel Essex at the Four Seasons?"
XXX
Chapter Nine: Dinner Plans
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
Creed lay on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, watching his girlfriend write herself a Danger Room Program. She had just gotten back from her workout, and, as she had gotten bored with the standard Sims, she had decided to make herself a "real" challenge. Suddenly, she turned, her deep brown eyes knifing into his.
"Victor?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I don't feel very well."
"Do ya mean physically, or. . ."
"There's something tearing at my shields. Victor!" Monet's voice suddenly rose an octave, and she clutched at her head, falling from her office chair. In less time than it took to tell, Creed had leapt to his feet and was at her side.
"What's wrong? Who is it?" he panicked when she went limp in his arms. "Damn it, Monet! Wake up, beautiful! Fuck!"
Her eyelids fluttered open. "I'm. . .I'm all right. It was just a momentary attack."
"Who was it?"
"I'm not sure. I don't. . .I don't know. They were shielded so well. . ."
"Was it a package?" he inquired, referring to a conventional psionic attack tactic utilized by non-psis, wherein years of emotional or physical anguish are "packaged" and hurled at the victim's mind.
"No," Monet shook her head weakly. "Whoever it was could not have been mindblind. They knew what they were doing too well."
"An' what were they doin'?"
"They weren't scanning for information so much as tearing through my shields. Just to hurt me."
"Ya couldn't tell who it was?"
"No. I. . .I think it was a woman. But I'm not sure. There was so much violent backwash that it couldn't have been. I think it was a man. But you scarcely sense so much pain in a man. They get over emotional distress fairly quickly, and they don't use their own pain against an opponent. It must have been a woman."
"Or a pansy."
Monet cuffed her lover over the head lightly. "You are incorrigible."
"But ya love me anyhow?"
"Of course."
"Where'd I be without ya?"
"Unhappily married to an aging mercenary."
"Hey. That agin' mercenary's at least two years younger'n you. An' our marriage wasn't a COMPLETE disaster. There were some good times."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"If you mean sex, that doesn't qualify."
"There was bondin', though, too. Not nearly as much as we did, but. . .there were good times. Fun times."
"For example?"
"I ain't tellin' my woman 'bout my ex-wife. Why the hell should I?"
"Because every relationship is built on honesty. If there is no honesty, there can be no meaningful relationship."
"Fine, if it means that much to ya." Victor shrugged, easing Monet onto the bed beside him, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her long hair. "Well, fer instance, when Beck was feelin' exceptionally flirty, we used ta tussle, friendly-like. There were a lot o' late-night conversations, cause we were both on-an'-off insomniacs. 'Sides, our jobs went late."
"What sorts of things did you talk about, then?"
"Life. Blood. Never our relationship."
"Why not?"
"Mostly 'cause she resented th' fact that we were in a relationship at all."
"Oh." Monet shifted in his arms, and straddled him, so she could look into his eyes. "So why DID you have a relationship, then?"
"'Cause it was th' best way ta protect her."
"From what? Her patron is Mr. Sinister, for crying out loud!"
"That name don't carry too much weight in th' merc world, an' Beck wanted ta be a merc. Sure, Essex learned 'er up good an' proper, so's she could cook up a clone in five minutes'r so, but she wanted ta kick butt."
"So you married her so people would be afraid of her?"
"Yeah. That too."
"What else?"
"I guess. . ." he sighed, averted his eyes from Monet's. "I thought I loved her fer a bit. Not just a bit. Fer a long time. Ever since she was jest a pup, I felt like I needed ta protect her. She was always so small, ya know?"
"Victor, everything's small to you." Monet lifted a brow suggestively, hoping to lighten the mood. But her lover only sighed.
"Yeah."
"So your name is well-respected in the mercenary community?"
"More like well-feared."
"And if a mercenary is feared, their relations are, as well?"
"Not just that. I always get the job done, no matter what. I had a good rep. Mercs knew I was good, an' th' ones what hire mercs knew I was th' best. They hear th' name Creed, they automatically think quality."
"Ah, that might have been your service logo. 'Creed means quality.'"
"Sounds too much like Graydon's banner."
"That's right. 'Creed means equality.'"
A pained look came to Victor's eyes, but was rapidly extinguished. "Yeah. Hey, you up fer a date tonight?"
"Sure. Where are we going?"
"Th' Four Seasons."
XXX
"Damn you, Nathaniel."
"Well, you were correct."
"Damn straight I was. Vic cares about her more than you can ever truthfully say he cared about me. That tiny attack was enough to send him into pre-cardial arrest."
"As if Creed were capable of such distress."
"He IS capable of it."
"All right, I'll give him that."
"I'm never acting on another of your silly hypotheses again!" Rebecca tugged the baseball cap further down over her eyes and stalked away from Sinister.
"It was an experiment. You damaged Miss St. Croix's shields the perfect amount for her to panic, and not enough to cause any real damage, if only to find out what Creed's reaction to it would be. And you know that he loves her."
"Well, thank you for helping me state the obvious. If he ever finds out that I did that. . ."
"He won't." Sinister interrupted her. "He won't."
"Why are you so sure?"
"You know, you really DO look a mess."
"Nice try changing the subject."
"The subject was paining you. I didn't feel as though it were necessary to put you through any further turbulence of mind."
"How solicitous of you." She smiled an ersatz smile.
"Why don't we go shopping."
"Now you're REALLY desperate. Where do you suggest we go?"
"Fifth Avenue, my love."
"Why?"
"Because we're going out for dinner tonight."
"Excuse me? Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! I certainly hope you aren't formulating the same plan in your devious little mind as I believe you are formulating."
"Oh, but I am."
"I'm not going."
"Oh, come now! What woman could resist an evening on Nathaniel Essex at the Four Seasons?"
XXX