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In an effort to both appease ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
luxorien and get myself to remember to work on it, here is one of the fics I started.
A light summer-turning-autumn breeze plays across the golden fields of corn and wheat as a long shadow falls from a short crouched figured who sniffs intently. His hackles raise and a growl erupts from deep within the tensed muscular frame that eagerly cries for the hunt, but he keeps his place within the cover of the nearby woods as the scene before the man plays out.
***
He had long since decided that Chuck was going to have a field day trying to sift through the data he had collected here in only the last few hours. Who knew such a seemingly innocent little country town like Smallville could contain such amazing battles as the one that had played out in front of his eyes not 15 minutes earlier. The man had long since given up being surprised by much, having seen a lot in his time, but even he had to admit to a small amount of trepidation of even revealing himself after the battle he had seen, or rather, battles plural. No wonder Chuck kept getting pings from this area. He could practically smell the power emanating from the beanpole, or slick jr. as he had taken to calling him, and the handful of others he really *could* smell whatever it was that had been making them do sizable damage to one of the nearby cornfields just recently.
A stray smell reaches him like a fist as the breeze shifts, but he quickly recognizes it as the herd o’ cattle he had caught site of earlier; same place as the slick jr. he recalled vividly. Hard to forget anything about that one, he knew. Kid stank o’ power and somethin’ not quite normal, but that came with the business. Another quick glance and a whiff, and he slowly rises from his hiding spot in one fluid motion. A startled bird scolds him, but quickly stops as he growls once more. He doubts the kid would stick around after the beat-down he gave, but there’s no point in drawing any attention to himself. He may have a reputation as a hothead, but he hasn’t stayed alive for so long by being careless.
A quick check of the unconscious punks later, the man returns to his hidden bike and heads toward town to find a phone, and maybe a half-decent cup o’ coffee. He can’t help but notice the faint odor of whatever the punks had, popping up from time to time as he rides, almost earthy, but in a bitter sort o’ way. It’s unpleasant, but it seems to fade as he reaches town. It doesn’t take long to find a payphone, and luckily it happens to be right close to a coffee shop fixed up from what appears to be an old movie theatre. A bar would be nice, but somehow he doubts he’d find info on the runt at a bar. A good strong brew will suffice.
“Yeah Chuck, it’s me. Found one o’ the blips you’ve been lookin’ for. Several actually. Yeah, field right outside of town. Caught it all. I get the feelin’ we got a miniature good guy bad guy deal goin’ on here Chuck. Because the farm boy in plaid let the punks who got the beat down live, that’s why. Waste o’ a good situation if you ask me, but I let ‘em live too. His power? Still not getting a fix then? I think I caught the tail end o’ the fight, but strength and speed seem like a good bet. My money’s ridin’ on the kid that he’s got more too, to judge from some of the marks I saw. I’ll check out the yokels here, see if I can’t rile up a little info on slick jr…you know Chuck, you really could have more confidence in a guy.”
The man hangs up in a somewhat jovial mood, and turns to the coffee joint in hopes that the java’s as strong as it smells from the street.
Busy cleaning a counter, the little slip of a waitress doesn’t notice him at first as he takes a small table in a corner. The one nice thing he loves about small farming towns is that aside from his wild hair, his attire of buffalo plaid jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots really tend not to stick out. Propping up said boots on the table, he pulls out one of his favorite cheroots, but thinks better of it as the approaching raven-haired waitress gives him a look worthy of a panther about to kill it’s prey. Combined with the hint o’ slick jr. wafting about her, he quickly puts the cigar back into his jacket with a sigh.
“So what’ll it be?” the raven-girl queries, a bit more pleasant with the removal of the cigar, although the propped feet seemed to irk her a bit.
“Espresso darlin’, strongest you’ve got if possible.” Even the strongest coffees couldn’t give him a buzz, his body flushing toxins like caffeine in seconds, but at least he could taste the difference, and that was somethin’. As the girl returns, he begins his delicate dance of gathering information on the farm boy. Of course, his many years of intrigue have taught him that simply asking about somebody only results in suspicion and tight lips, so as the girl returns with his coffee, he sifts through possibly questions that won’t startle.
“So tell me darlin’, where would a man go in these parts to sell some cattle feed?” Between the cattle stink comin’ from the runt, and from the general direction he zipped off to, it was a safe bet that a person selling feed wouldn’t be suspicious. An’ judgin’ from the girl, she knew just who slick jr. was, and might just mention his place.
The waitress rattled off a few names and places, one or two being in the direction the kid had run off to. Figuring the Kents as the most likely of choices, the man thanks the waitress and returns to his coffee, planning on heading straight to the farm after he finishes.
The rush of wind from the opening door, and the subsequent rush of scent tells the man that the kid has shown up, and judgin’ from the look o’ the girl bussing tables, a tad late. The man softly chuckles to himself as he downs the last of the espresso, as he knows why the runt is late, and why he has a different shirt on, havin’ been in the same sitch once or twice himself. Sometimes it just didn’t pay to be one o’ the good guys when it came to clothing. The man has decided that a lover’s spat really isn’t what he needs to be a part of, and decides to head off to slick jr.’s farm to check for any unusual devices that could so thoroughly block Chuck’s searches for special activity that was clearly happenin’ in this odd town.
He brushes past another oddly pungent, bald man as he steps out onto the main street. The man has the look o’ secrets that anyone with half an eye could discern, as well as money, as the smell of fine leather contributes to. Even with the myriad o’ rich smells emanating from the bald man, he can ever so faintly catch the hint of whatever it was that reeks so heavily from the town, and from those punks the kid had made so much kindling out of earlier - something alien, and almost offensive to the nose.
Determined to get to the bottom o’ the strange odors and people the small town seems to have, the stranger heads to the Kent farm, stopping at once as he smells the strange odor quite strongly at one particular spot along the road. He quickly dismounts and strides toward as the smell strengthens. At last, a few feet into one o’ the fields, he finds a small emerald rock glimmering slightly at his feet.
As always, any suggestions or little nit-picks are most appreciated. (Especially any problems to be found with tenses as I've been having problems with that for this fic).
luxorien and get myself to remember to work on it, here is one of the fics I started.A light summer-turning-autumn breeze plays across the golden fields of corn and wheat as a long shadow falls from a short crouched figured who sniffs intently. His hackles raise and a growl erupts from deep within the tensed muscular frame that eagerly cries for the hunt, but he keeps his place within the cover of the nearby woods as the scene before the man plays out.
***
He had long since decided that Chuck was going to have a field day trying to sift through the data he had collected here in only the last few hours. Who knew such a seemingly innocent little country town like Smallville could contain such amazing battles as the one that had played out in front of his eyes not 15 minutes earlier. The man had long since given up being surprised by much, having seen a lot in his time, but even he had to admit to a small amount of trepidation of even revealing himself after the battle he had seen, or rather, battles plural. No wonder Chuck kept getting pings from this area. He could practically smell the power emanating from the beanpole, or slick jr. as he had taken to calling him, and the handful of others he really *could* smell whatever it was that had been making them do sizable damage to one of the nearby cornfields just recently.
A stray smell reaches him like a fist as the breeze shifts, but he quickly recognizes it as the herd o’ cattle he had caught site of earlier; same place as the slick jr. he recalled vividly. Hard to forget anything about that one, he knew. Kid stank o’ power and somethin’ not quite normal, but that came with the business. Another quick glance and a whiff, and he slowly rises from his hiding spot in one fluid motion. A startled bird scolds him, but quickly stops as he growls once more. He doubts the kid would stick around after the beat-down he gave, but there’s no point in drawing any attention to himself. He may have a reputation as a hothead, but he hasn’t stayed alive for so long by being careless.
A quick check of the unconscious punks later, the man returns to his hidden bike and heads toward town to find a phone, and maybe a half-decent cup o’ coffee. He can’t help but notice the faint odor of whatever the punks had, popping up from time to time as he rides, almost earthy, but in a bitter sort o’ way. It’s unpleasant, but it seems to fade as he reaches town. It doesn’t take long to find a payphone, and luckily it happens to be right close to a coffee shop fixed up from what appears to be an old movie theatre. A bar would be nice, but somehow he doubts he’d find info on the runt at a bar. A good strong brew will suffice.
“Yeah Chuck, it’s me. Found one o’ the blips you’ve been lookin’ for. Several actually. Yeah, field right outside of town. Caught it all. I get the feelin’ we got a miniature good guy bad guy deal goin’ on here Chuck. Because the farm boy in plaid let the punks who got the beat down live, that’s why. Waste o’ a good situation if you ask me, but I let ‘em live too. His power? Still not getting a fix then? I think I caught the tail end o’ the fight, but strength and speed seem like a good bet. My money’s ridin’ on the kid that he’s got more too, to judge from some of the marks I saw. I’ll check out the yokels here, see if I can’t rile up a little info on slick jr…you know Chuck, you really could have more confidence in a guy.”
The man hangs up in a somewhat jovial mood, and turns to the coffee joint in hopes that the java’s as strong as it smells from the street.
Busy cleaning a counter, the little slip of a waitress doesn’t notice him at first as he takes a small table in a corner. The one nice thing he loves about small farming towns is that aside from his wild hair, his attire of buffalo plaid jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots really tend not to stick out. Propping up said boots on the table, he pulls out one of his favorite cheroots, but thinks better of it as the approaching raven-haired waitress gives him a look worthy of a panther about to kill it’s prey. Combined with the hint o’ slick jr. wafting about her, he quickly puts the cigar back into his jacket with a sigh.
“So what’ll it be?” the raven-girl queries, a bit more pleasant with the removal of the cigar, although the propped feet seemed to irk her a bit.
“Espresso darlin’, strongest you’ve got if possible.” Even the strongest coffees couldn’t give him a buzz, his body flushing toxins like caffeine in seconds, but at least he could taste the difference, and that was somethin’. As the girl returns, he begins his delicate dance of gathering information on the farm boy. Of course, his many years of intrigue have taught him that simply asking about somebody only results in suspicion and tight lips, so as the girl returns with his coffee, he sifts through possibly questions that won’t startle.
“So tell me darlin’, where would a man go in these parts to sell some cattle feed?” Between the cattle stink comin’ from the runt, and from the general direction he zipped off to, it was a safe bet that a person selling feed wouldn’t be suspicious. An’ judgin’ from the girl, she knew just who slick jr. was, and might just mention his place.
The waitress rattled off a few names and places, one or two being in the direction the kid had run off to. Figuring the Kents as the most likely of choices, the man thanks the waitress and returns to his coffee, planning on heading straight to the farm after he finishes.
The rush of wind from the opening door, and the subsequent rush of scent tells the man that the kid has shown up, and judgin’ from the look o’ the girl bussing tables, a tad late. The man softly chuckles to himself as he downs the last of the espresso, as he knows why the runt is late, and why he has a different shirt on, havin’ been in the same sitch once or twice himself. Sometimes it just didn’t pay to be one o’ the good guys when it came to clothing. The man has decided that a lover’s spat really isn’t what he needs to be a part of, and decides to head off to slick jr.’s farm to check for any unusual devices that could so thoroughly block Chuck’s searches for special activity that was clearly happenin’ in this odd town.
He brushes past another oddly pungent, bald man as he steps out onto the main street. The man has the look o’ secrets that anyone with half an eye could discern, as well as money, as the smell of fine leather contributes to. Even with the myriad o’ rich smells emanating from the bald man, he can ever so faintly catch the hint of whatever it was that reeks so heavily from the town, and from those punks the kid had made so much kindling out of earlier - something alien, and almost offensive to the nose.
Determined to get to the bottom o’ the strange odors and people the small town seems to have, the stranger heads to the Kent farm, stopping at once as he smells the strange odor quite strongly at one particular spot along the road. He quickly dismounts and strides toward as the smell strengthens. At last, a few feet into one o’ the fields, he finds a small emerald rock glimmering slightly at his feet.
As always, any suggestions or little nit-picks are most appreciated. (Especially any problems to be found with tenses as I've been having problems with that for this fic).
