(no subject)
Just playing tonight . . .
Jesse's ability to increase and decrease his mass gave him a huge advantage when it came to staying in one piece. Anyone trying to hit him was in for a nasty surprise, and he'd yet to find a bullet that could pierce his natural armor . . . as long as he knew it was coming.
Silencers sucked, he reflected as he tried to push himself out of sight behind the dumpster he'd been using for cover a few minutes before. And bleeding . . . definitely sucked. All those times he'd let bullets just bounce off him, secretly a little amused at their impotence, he should have known there was one out there with his name on it, just waiting to get revenge.
It was almost funny, in an ironic kind of way. Funny that a bullet had finally found its way through his defenses, funny that now, when it did no good, his mass seemed to have increased a hundred times, funny that he was so cold when he'd just been complaining to Brennan that it was too hot for this time of year. Or was that yesterday when he'd talked to Brennan? It seemed like a long time ago.
One of his legs seemed to be asleep, which made it really hard to scoot the last few feet to the dumpster. He'd tried to shake it out a couple of times, but it still wasn't working. Lying down on the job, he thought, and would have laughed except he suspected it wasn't really funny. The last time he'd tried to use his arms to move, something *wrong* had happened inside, and he'd wound up making a horrible whimpering sound that shamed him all the more because it took him so long to stop. He'd been glad then that no one was around to hear him--well, no one except the sniper on the roof down the street, but he . . . or she, equal opportunity employment . . . was the whole reason he was here, and Jesse didn't figure he-or-she had any room to complain. But it was hard enough trying to appear as tough as Shalimar or as cool as Brennan without making noises like a stepped-on puppy.
"Hey!"
//. . . is for horses . . .//
"Hey, you still alive down there?"
He. The sniper was a he. The answer to the $64,000 question . . .
"I haven't seen you move in a while. I hope you're not dead; dead worms make lousy bait."
Jesse hadn't ever been fishing, but he was willing to take the sniper's word for it. They'd had a remarkably honest relationship so far, unless you counted the whole issue of sneaking up and shooting someone in the back as being dishonest. He thought about telling the sniper he was alive, he'd just forgotten he was supposed to be moving and he'd get right on it as soon as his legs started working again. It seemed like too much effort, though, and honest or not, Jesse didn't see much point in making the sniper's job easier for him.
"Where's your partner, anyway? Shouldn't he be trying to rescue you or something? Doesn't seem like much of a partner who'd leave you out in the middle of some alley to bleed to death."
//He had a pressing appointment. Had to get his hair done. It doesn't just poof like that naturally, you know.//
"I saw the two of you messing around down there, trying to sneak up on me. You could learn a thing or two about stealth, kid. Like not kicking aluminum cans around and raising a ruckus."
//That was Brennan's fault. If he'd said something before he stopped walking . . .//
"But then I guess just 'cause you're freaks doesn't mean you're all that bright, does it, kid? Hell, if you had any sense, you wouldn't be lying out there bleeding to death. Or at least you'd pick a partner who'd watch your back."
Freaks. It should have made him mad, but he was just too tired to get excited about it. Too cold, ice on his bones and fire somewhere in his back . . .
"Maybe I should just finish you off and go after your partner instead of waiting. Doesn't look like he's coming for you, does it? There's no need in you suffering all this time, freak or no freak. What do you think, kid?"
//I think I want another blanket. Adam always keeps this place too cold. Maybe it is good for the plants, but I don't want frostbite.//
"Hell, maybe you're dead already, and I'll just be wasting a bullet. But just in case . . . Well, what do you know, look who's finally decided to show--"
Two screams, one terrified and one furious, startled Jesse into opening his eyes, and he thought confusedly that he wasn't in Sanctuary after all. But what was he doing lying in a filthy alleyway with a soda can not two feet from his nose and someone manhandling him like he was a drunk getting rolled?
Urgh . . . midnight. Work. Urgh.
Jesse's ability to increase and decrease his mass gave him a huge advantage when it came to staying in one piece. Anyone trying to hit him was in for a nasty surprise, and he'd yet to find a bullet that could pierce his natural armor . . . as long as he knew it was coming.
Silencers sucked, he reflected as he tried to push himself out of sight behind the dumpster he'd been using for cover a few minutes before. And bleeding . . . definitely sucked. All those times he'd let bullets just bounce off him, secretly a little amused at their impotence, he should have known there was one out there with his name on it, just waiting to get revenge.
It was almost funny, in an ironic kind of way. Funny that a bullet had finally found its way through his defenses, funny that now, when it did no good, his mass seemed to have increased a hundred times, funny that he was so cold when he'd just been complaining to Brennan that it was too hot for this time of year. Or was that yesterday when he'd talked to Brennan? It seemed like a long time ago.
One of his legs seemed to be asleep, which made it really hard to scoot the last few feet to the dumpster. He'd tried to shake it out a couple of times, but it still wasn't working. Lying down on the job, he thought, and would have laughed except he suspected it wasn't really funny. The last time he'd tried to use his arms to move, something *wrong* had happened inside, and he'd wound up making a horrible whimpering sound that shamed him all the more because it took him so long to stop. He'd been glad then that no one was around to hear him--well, no one except the sniper on the roof down the street, but he . . . or she, equal opportunity employment . . . was the whole reason he was here, and Jesse didn't figure he-or-she had any room to complain. But it was hard enough trying to appear as tough as Shalimar or as cool as Brennan without making noises like a stepped-on puppy.
"Hey!"
//. . . is for horses . . .//
"Hey, you still alive down there?"
He. The sniper was a he. The answer to the $64,000 question . . .
"I haven't seen you move in a while. I hope you're not dead; dead worms make lousy bait."
Jesse hadn't ever been fishing, but he was willing to take the sniper's word for it. They'd had a remarkably honest relationship so far, unless you counted the whole issue of sneaking up and shooting someone in the back as being dishonest. He thought about telling the sniper he was alive, he'd just forgotten he was supposed to be moving and he'd get right on it as soon as his legs started working again. It seemed like too much effort, though, and honest or not, Jesse didn't see much point in making the sniper's job easier for him.
"Where's your partner, anyway? Shouldn't he be trying to rescue you or something? Doesn't seem like much of a partner who'd leave you out in the middle of some alley to bleed to death."
//He had a pressing appointment. Had to get his hair done. It doesn't just poof like that naturally, you know.//
"I saw the two of you messing around down there, trying to sneak up on me. You could learn a thing or two about stealth, kid. Like not kicking aluminum cans around and raising a ruckus."
//That was Brennan's fault. If he'd said something before he stopped walking . . .//
"But then I guess just 'cause you're freaks doesn't mean you're all that bright, does it, kid? Hell, if you had any sense, you wouldn't be lying out there bleeding to death. Or at least you'd pick a partner who'd watch your back."
Freaks. It should have made him mad, but he was just too tired to get excited about it. Too cold, ice on his bones and fire somewhere in his back . . .
"Maybe I should just finish you off and go after your partner instead of waiting. Doesn't look like he's coming for you, does it? There's no need in you suffering all this time, freak or no freak. What do you think, kid?"
//I think I want another blanket. Adam always keeps this place too cold. Maybe it is good for the plants, but I don't want frostbite.//
"Hell, maybe you're dead already, and I'll just be wasting a bullet. But just in case . . . Well, what do you know, look who's finally decided to show--"
Two screams, one terrified and one furious, startled Jesse into opening his eyes, and he thought confusedly that he wasn't in Sanctuary after all. But what was he doing lying in a filthy alleyway with a soda can not two feet from his nose and someone manhandling him like he was a drunk getting rolled?
Urgh . . . midnight. Work. Urgh.