a contribution of dubious usefulness. ;)
This is an Ultimate X-Men rictor/shatterstar fic i started a while ago -it's kind of stalled. The premise being that Ben Russell was one of Weapon X's unfortunate pressganged mutants.
I might scrap it and take it from a different direction, but feedback would be immensely appreciated ^_^v
Stand Tall and Shake the Heavens
incomplete WIP: Ultimate X-Men/RictorxShatterstar
Rumours spread fast, that the freak hunting mutant kids had been caught and locked up.
Julio's mother kissed him hard on the cheek and went on about how she'd been so happy he wasn't a mutant like some of his friends (ay, ay, that boy, Roberto he's ok, but why you have to go hang with that grey-skinned puerto rican, my Julio?) and so happy that one more child-killer was off the street.
Like his father.
He didn't know if it was fear or kindess that kept him from telling Mama that in fact he was, a mutant that is, and he was pretty sure the trembler that shook Harlem last fall when he failed his classes and his father...
(let's not go there, 'kay?) He glanced at his watch. (ah, shit. late again) The old man at the deli didn't pay much, but Julio was trying very hard to keep his nose clean.
The bum was there too. Just another homeless freak in a city full of them. The old man had taken to leaving the food he'd throw out by the alleyway door instead of tossing it in the dumpster. It made Julio a little queasy. That his boss was encouraging this sort of thing. The bum rocked, hat pulled down low, and hummed to himself.
(great. gonna have a crazy day) He thought as he gingerly stepped around him. He'd never actually *seen* the bum's face. He was always curled up, but the food was always gone in the morning and Julio had some horrid thought of this hunchbacked creature feeding in the darkness.
"RICHTER! Boy, don't you got a WATCH?" The old man shouted from inside the store.
"Sorry, Mr. Lucas. I had to help mi madre..."
"Well get in here. And stop lookin' at the bum. He ain't gonna do no tricks for you."
Julio stowed his backpack behind the counter and shrugged on his apron. "Mr. Lucas? You ever.. see his face? Or anything?"
The old man narrowed his dark eyes. "You just leave that guy be, Julio. You just leave him be."
[another day. sweeping floors, rotating twinkies with dubious expiry dates. but money was money, and money=college. another day. dull. dull. dull.]
Young toughs staggered into the deli, stinking of cheap beer and white powder that was probably mostly fertilizer but with a little something else mixed in for show and at least one of them a mutant with goat horns poking out his mangy hair.
One threw a couple of six packs and a bag of doritos down on the counter, while the others were shoving more into their jackets, knocking things over, eating the goddamn twinkies while Julio tried to hide behind his broom.
Mr. Lucas didn't hold to that sort of thing.
"You little bastards, get the hell outta my store!" He shouted, reaching under the counter.
The goat-horned guy bounded over the counter too fast, grabbing the shotgun and pressing it against the old man's balding temple. "Ay, 'mano. You think I'm scared 'a' your little gun? Maybe you try it first?"
And Julio was shaking.
Julio was shaking and so was the cream of broccoli soup on the nearby counter. (oh, shit. oh fuck. no. no. no.) Mr. Lucas was opening the cash register and he was
just standing there and shaking and the building was starting to and the bell on the door was jingling like some christmas santa with the pot standing on the corner
and..
And the bum was standing in the doorway. Tall and straight under the shapless clothing, face hidden in the hood and the hat.
The punks just laughed. "What, you gonna get all crazy-ass homeless on me, you smelly fuck?" Goat-horn laughed. "Go sit down like a good boy and maybe I don't bust a cap in the old man."
The bum just walked in, and casually took the broom from Julio's shaking grasp. And stood there, cans of soup slowly vibrating their way to the end of the shelf.
"You gonna clean up, crazy motherfuc..."
Julio just watched, as if the whole thing happened simultaneously in slow motion and too fast for him to see. one can dropped of the edge, and the broomhandle
blurred, flicking the can into the goat-boy's forehead, as the bum sprang into motion. Mr. Lucas scrambled away and Julio found his feet, grabbing the old man out of the way as the bum .... danced.
It was all he could call it, the speed and graceful sweep (sweep, ha.) of housekeeping tool turned weapon.
And then it was over, and somewhere the shaking had stopped and Julio hadn't noticed and the bum's hat was on the floor and his hood was off and there was a tangled mess of hair that might look like a sunset if it was clean and it was suddenly coming at them.
Goat-boy had the gun.
"Lucky I got a thick skull" he said as too many things happened at once and the bum stepped between them and the bullet and it tore through his arm and found a home in Mr. Lucas and the broom became a spear and pinned goat-boy like a butterfly to the rack of Marlboros behind the counter.
And then it was over.
And Julio was certain it was the world shaking and not him.
An hour later, the police had taped off what was left of the little deli with bright yellow and black and Julio was sitting in shock on the back gate of an FDNY ambulance. The police had taken his statement and searched for the bum and hauled off the survivors and Julio could only watch through the dust in his lashes at the black bag that used to be Mr. Lucas.
He didn't want to talk to the police anymore. He didn't want to talk to 'Berto or Angelo or the crowds of peering eyes that stared at the store.
He wanted to find the bum. He'd explained to the police how he'd tried to save them, how he fought off the thugs and the cops promised they just wanted to find him and make sure he was alright in that way that said to Julio that they were thinking other things.
And later, when it was dark and things had quieted down, Julio went looking. Mama worked nights, and she left, full of worry, leaving him to his own search.
He didn't have to go far.
The bum was curled in the basement stairwell in front of the next building, glint of eyes catching the light of the streetlamp.
"Hey, 'mano.. Hey, there you are.. are you ok?" He said softly, not getting closer, still a little afraid. There was no answer but a slight shifting of weight and the streetlamp caught an inkblot stain spread across the filthy green jacket. "Oh, shit, man. You're bleeding."
I might scrap it and take it from a different direction, but feedback would be immensely appreciated ^_^v
Stand Tall and Shake the Heavens
incomplete WIP: Ultimate X-Men/RictorxShatterstar
Rumours spread fast, that the freak hunting mutant kids had been caught and locked up.
Julio's mother kissed him hard on the cheek and went on about how she'd been so happy he wasn't a mutant like some of his friends (ay, ay, that boy, Roberto he's ok, but why you have to go hang with that grey-skinned puerto rican, my Julio?) and so happy that one more child-killer was off the street.
Like his father.
He didn't know if it was fear or kindess that kept him from telling Mama that in fact he was, a mutant that is, and he was pretty sure the trembler that shook Harlem last fall when he failed his classes and his father...
(let's not go there, 'kay?) He glanced at his watch. (ah, shit. late again) The old man at the deli didn't pay much, but Julio was trying very hard to keep his nose clean.
The bum was there too. Just another homeless freak in a city full of them. The old man had taken to leaving the food he'd throw out by the alleyway door instead of tossing it in the dumpster. It made Julio a little queasy. That his boss was encouraging this sort of thing. The bum rocked, hat pulled down low, and hummed to himself.
(great. gonna have a crazy day) He thought as he gingerly stepped around him. He'd never actually *seen* the bum's face. He was always curled up, but the food was always gone in the morning and Julio had some horrid thought of this hunchbacked creature feeding in the darkness.
"RICHTER! Boy, don't you got a WATCH?" The old man shouted from inside the store.
"Sorry, Mr. Lucas. I had to help mi madre..."
"Well get in here. And stop lookin' at the bum. He ain't gonna do no tricks for you."
Julio stowed his backpack behind the counter and shrugged on his apron. "Mr. Lucas? You ever.. see his face? Or anything?"
The old man narrowed his dark eyes. "You just leave that guy be, Julio. You just leave him be."
[another day. sweeping floors, rotating twinkies with dubious expiry dates. but money was money, and money=college. another day. dull. dull. dull.]
Young toughs staggered into the deli, stinking of cheap beer and white powder that was probably mostly fertilizer but with a little something else mixed in for show and at least one of them a mutant with goat horns poking out his mangy hair.
One threw a couple of six packs and a bag of doritos down on the counter, while the others were shoving more into their jackets, knocking things over, eating the goddamn twinkies while Julio tried to hide behind his broom.
Mr. Lucas didn't hold to that sort of thing.
"You little bastards, get the hell outta my store!" He shouted, reaching under the counter.
The goat-horned guy bounded over the counter too fast, grabbing the shotgun and pressing it against the old man's balding temple. "Ay, 'mano. You think I'm scared 'a' your little gun? Maybe you try it first?"
And Julio was shaking.
Julio was shaking and so was the cream of broccoli soup on the nearby counter. (oh, shit. oh fuck. no. no. no.) Mr. Lucas was opening the cash register and he was
just standing there and shaking and the building was starting to and the bell on the door was jingling like some christmas santa with the pot standing on the corner
and..
And the bum was standing in the doorway. Tall and straight under the shapless clothing, face hidden in the hood and the hat.
The punks just laughed. "What, you gonna get all crazy-ass homeless on me, you smelly fuck?" Goat-horn laughed. "Go sit down like a good boy and maybe I don't bust a cap in the old man."
The bum just walked in, and casually took the broom from Julio's shaking grasp. And stood there, cans of soup slowly vibrating their way to the end of the shelf.
"You gonna clean up, crazy motherfuc..."
Julio just watched, as if the whole thing happened simultaneously in slow motion and too fast for him to see. one can dropped of the edge, and the broomhandle
blurred, flicking the can into the goat-boy's forehead, as the bum sprang into motion. Mr. Lucas scrambled away and Julio found his feet, grabbing the old man out of the way as the bum .... danced.
It was all he could call it, the speed and graceful sweep (sweep, ha.) of housekeeping tool turned weapon.
And then it was over, and somewhere the shaking had stopped and Julio hadn't noticed and the bum's hat was on the floor and his hood was off and there was a tangled mess of hair that might look like a sunset if it was clean and it was suddenly coming at them.
Goat-boy had the gun.
"Lucky I got a thick skull" he said as too many things happened at once and the bum stepped between them and the bullet and it tore through his arm and found a home in Mr. Lucas and the broom became a spear and pinned goat-boy like a butterfly to the rack of Marlboros behind the counter.
And then it was over.
And Julio was certain it was the world shaking and not him.
An hour later, the police had taped off what was left of the little deli with bright yellow and black and Julio was sitting in shock on the back gate of an FDNY ambulance. The police had taken his statement and searched for the bum and hauled off the survivors and Julio could only watch through the dust in his lashes at the black bag that used to be Mr. Lucas.
He didn't want to talk to the police anymore. He didn't want to talk to 'Berto or Angelo or the crowds of peering eyes that stared at the store.
He wanted to find the bum. He'd explained to the police how he'd tried to save them, how he fought off the thugs and the cops promised they just wanted to find him and make sure he was alright in that way that said to Julio that they were thinking other things.
And later, when it was dark and things had quieted down, Julio went looking. Mama worked nights, and she left, full of worry, leaving him to his own search.
He didn't have to go far.
The bum was curled in the basement stairwell in front of the next building, glint of eyes catching the light of the streetlamp.
"Hey, 'mano.. Hey, there you are.. are you ok?" He said softly, not getting closer, still a little afraid. There was no answer but a slight shifting of weight and the streetlamp caught an inkblot stain spread across the filthy green jacket. "Oh, shit, man. You're bleeding."