Predator
Working Title: Predator
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Connor
Setting: Season four, shortly after Cordelia returns.
Summary: "The night is thick with heat and tension as aggression dwindles into silent triumph and a thankless job is completed. The city will never be safe, but a few faceless lives were saved, and he's told that should be enough."
The night is thick with heat and tension as aggression dwindles into silent triumph and a thankless job is completed. The city will never be safe, but a few faceless lives were saved, and he's told that should be enough.
Connor hunches over the carcass of his kill, setting down his dripping machete a safe distance away. He's careful not to come into contact with the demon's blood; Fred told him once that it could be dangerous, and she had that kind of crack in her voice that meant she knew what she was talking about.
She also said, later, that all she wanted to do was hurt him. He focuses instead of the dead monster before him, already decaying.
It's a big thing, sprawled on its side with its head hanging by threads of sinew and muscle. Blood the colour of ash oozes from the numerous cuts he made in its calloused hide. It's green, but the green of nausea, not lush jungles or storybook dragons or that mint gum Fred got him once when she took him to a dollar store.
It isn’t pretty, is the point.
He learned a long time ago that not a lot was, in Hell or Los Angeles. Cordelia would ask if there was really a difference, and he wouldn't know if she was serious but he would smile anyway.
The thought of her makes him more aware of the dirty alley he's in and the smell of a nightmare's corpse burning his nostrils. He shouldn't just sit here and think, he has to act, act or die, he always has to remember that. It's the only way to survive, anywhere.
So he stands, slowly, with that kind of grace that creeped Gunn out and he remembers being amused by that, maybe hurt, but it was always worse when Gunn would laugh and compare him to his father.
He walks with a light step, quick and silent like the predator he was meant to be, back to his home to where he can just be a boy.
He’s not sure which one is the lie anymore, and sometimes he doesn’t care.
First time I've used part of the story as the summary, but I honestly couldn't figure out anything else. ...Well, I could, but it was shite.
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Connor
Setting: Season four, shortly after Cordelia returns.
Summary: "The night is thick with heat and tension as aggression dwindles into silent triumph and a thankless job is completed. The city will never be safe, but a few faceless lives were saved, and he's told that should be enough."
The night is thick with heat and tension as aggression dwindles into silent triumph and a thankless job is completed. The city will never be safe, but a few faceless lives were saved, and he's told that should be enough.
Connor hunches over the carcass of his kill, setting down his dripping machete a safe distance away. He's careful not to come into contact with the demon's blood; Fred told him once that it could be dangerous, and she had that kind of crack in her voice that meant she knew what she was talking about.
She also said, later, that all she wanted to do was hurt him. He focuses instead of the dead monster before him, already decaying.
It's a big thing, sprawled on its side with its head hanging by threads of sinew and muscle. Blood the colour of ash oozes from the numerous cuts he made in its calloused hide. It's green, but the green of nausea, not lush jungles or storybook dragons or that mint gum Fred got him once when she took him to a dollar store.
It isn’t pretty, is the point.
He learned a long time ago that not a lot was, in Hell or Los Angeles. Cordelia would ask if there was really a difference, and he wouldn't know if she was serious but he would smile anyway.
The thought of her makes him more aware of the dirty alley he's in and the smell of a nightmare's corpse burning his nostrils. He shouldn't just sit here and think, he has to act, act or die, he always has to remember that. It's the only way to survive, anywhere.
So he stands, slowly, with that kind of grace that creeped Gunn out and he remembers being amused by that, maybe hurt, but it was always worse when Gunn would laugh and compare him to his father.
He walks with a light step, quick and silent like the predator he was meant to be, back to his home to where he can just be a boy.
He’s not sure which one is the lie anymore, and sometimes he doesn’t care.
First time I've used part of the story as the summary, but I honestly couldn't figure out anything else. ...Well, I could, but it was shite.