Fic excerpt: Rasputin (X-Men movieverse) Rogue [rated: mature]
I come bearing gifts! First, a masthead for the yet-to-be-created Rasputin webpage.
And now, an excerpt.
=^o.O^=
Eyeless, noseless, fingerless and-- Marie crossed her legs in empathy-- dickless, bloated with water and God only knew what the Hudson had brewed in its two hundred plus years of industrial disregard for life, the body was barely recognizable as human. A dozen yards away, someone was vomiting. Probably several someones. The sour smell added to the maleficence of the scene.
This winter, sleet and mud flavoured New York City. Nothing so picturesque as Rockefeller Centre or the Chrysler Building iced with snow this year. No, the city was just wet and cold. Marie pulled her wool coat tighter around her neck to prevent more ninja ice particles from sneaking down her back. She breathed on her double-gloved hands for some momentary warmth. They'd hauled in a lot of frozen homeless bodies the past few months. No doubt they'd haul in a few more. At least they'd be in one piece.
A cop in blues jogged to her side, probably more to generate heat than out of any sense of urgency. Marie had flashed her creds at the police line, but she took her badge out again just in case. There were a lot of sickos out there who would want to poke around a mutilated body for fifteen minutes of fame and a hundred bucks on the latest social media sites.
"I wish I could say your iron stomach is a relief, detective," said the cop, Lieutenant Mudaffer according to his badge. "But something tells me this isn't the first time you've seen a body look like this."
"The penis is new," said Marie. "Deliberate though. Fish and crabs wouldn't leave a clean slice like this unless they've learned to use knives and forks down there, too."
"The things I've seen in the past twenty years, detective, I wouldn't be surprised if they did," said Mudaffer. "Someone dragged the duffel out of the water in the middle of the night-- probably a hobo looking to score a few useful things. We figured he opened it up, saw the body, and left. As soon as it was light enough out, a group of joggers tripped into it. Literally."
"Wouldn't want to see their therapy bills."
"No, ma'am."
"DNA checks out as mutant?"
Lieutenant Mudaffer blinked. "Erm. He's got striped fur."
"Freak is the new cool. Ziff gives users temporary powers. The latest bodmods can give you ears, tails, and scales. When I was a kid, I knew someone who'd pay two hundred bucks a month to wax all her body hair off. Now you can get fur extensions. Run DNA."
"Yes, ma'am." He signalled for a crime scene tech.
Marie crouched closer to the body. She pulled her every-day gloves off in favour of a pair of nitrile ones from the techs. Her usual gloves had to be waterproof but breathable and thin enough to be useful. Expensive as hell, of course. Good thing she had acquaintances in high places like the Xavier's Institute. To be honest, she thought Hank McCoy appreciated the occasional biochemistry puzzle to break up the monotony of saving the world with his giant brain.
Using long-nosed pliers, Marie lifted the neckline of the vic's shirt then the hem to assess for signs of assault. No visible bruising but a few lighter coloured lines along his stomach that might have been old scars. Marie made a mental note to ask about that in the autopsy. He didn't have pants or underwear on.
"Any clue if he'd been raped?" asked Marie. "Hard to tell from the way the body's lying."
"We haven't checked that yet," said Lieutenant Mudaffer.
"Don't mind if I do the honours." She waved to the nearest tech. "Push one of his knees up."
The tech obeyed, though with some difficulty.
"Rigor?" Marie asked.
"Or bloat," said the tech. "Flesh is real boggy. Makes joint manipulation as much of a bitch as rigor. I hate drownings."
"Yeah, give me a nice, straight-forward burial any day. Water messes everything up." Marie spread the victim's buttocks apart. "No visible external trauma which could mean there was no rape or the water washed away any recent evidence."
"He could be a hooker. Regular, long-term anal intercourse means his body would have adjusted," said Lieutenant Mudaffer.
"We'll just have to chalk this up as one more thing for the coroner to enlighten us with. We can't afford to be sloppy with this case. Let's not assume this is the same asshole as the one I'm tracking down."
"They're all assholes."
Marie managed a grin. "I like to think of assholes as a small, vocal minority. Helps me stick to one drink a night."
"MacTac's holding this one pretty close to its chest," said Mudaffer.
"Not on purpose." She looked around for eavesdroppers before continuing. "You gonna pick up this case for your house?"
"Depends. Is it gonna go through our house?"
"I heard great things about your coroner. We'd like to work with her. If you can clear that, we can see about processing the MacTac cases coming out of the 32nd."
Mudaffer raised his eyebrows. "I'll see what I can do. What can you tell me about this case?"
"In the past three months, MacTac brought four bodies into our caseload," said Marie. "We fished two of them on our side of the Hudson, one on the Bronx side of the Harlem River, and one just under the Roosevelt Bridge. All between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five, all Level 2 or 3 physical mutations, and a high probability that all worked as prostitutes. Same kind of mutilation: noses, ears, fingers, and toes cut off and eyeballs pierced through like grapes. Until this vic, all women."
"Sounds organized to me."
Marie opted to change the subject slightly. "Was this still in the duffel when the joggers found him?"
"Half out. The hobo or whoever seemed desperate enough to go through a dead man's--"
"Boy."
Lieutenant Mudaffer raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"This is a boy," Marie explained. "Maybe late teens or early twenties. He doesn't have the mass of a grown man."
"Could be malnutrition if he grew up a runaway."
"Features are too soft for a runaway. Unmarked. You live on the street that long, you look fifty by the time you're twenty-five. This one, despite his disfigurement, still scans pretty easily as a young adult." She turned the victim's left arm over. Blue-violet scabs decorated the inside of his elbows and forearms where his fur grew thinner. Larger, ragged scars marred the backs on his hands. "Trackmarks."
"Good old fashioned heroin," Lieutenant Mudaffer remarked.
"Still fucking people up after three hundred years. They should make it a tagline. The heroin's consistent with my previous vics anyway. But then so are half the bodies that end up in the fridge. What else have you got for me?"
"We're dredging the river downstream for about a mile to account for the currents. So far nothing suspicious."
"Thanks for trying anyway. You know my number and email. Let me know if you do find anything; I'll be dropping by your precinct--"
And now, an excerpt.
=^o.O^=
Eyeless, noseless, fingerless and-- Marie crossed her legs in empathy-- dickless, bloated with water and God only knew what the Hudson had brewed in its two hundred plus years of industrial disregard for life, the body was barely recognizable as human. A dozen yards away, someone was vomiting. Probably several someones. The sour smell added to the maleficence of the scene.
This winter, sleet and mud flavoured New York City. Nothing so picturesque as Rockefeller Centre or the Chrysler Building iced with snow this year. No, the city was just wet and cold. Marie pulled her wool coat tighter around her neck to prevent more ninja ice particles from sneaking down her back. She breathed on her double-gloved hands for some momentary warmth. They'd hauled in a lot of frozen homeless bodies the past few months. No doubt they'd haul in a few more. At least they'd be in one piece.
A cop in blues jogged to her side, probably more to generate heat than out of any sense of urgency. Marie had flashed her creds at the police line, but she took her badge out again just in case. There were a lot of sickos out there who would want to poke around a mutilated body for fifteen minutes of fame and a hundred bucks on the latest social media sites.
"I wish I could say your iron stomach is a relief, detective," said the cop, Lieutenant Mudaffer according to his badge. "But something tells me this isn't the first time you've seen a body look like this."
"The penis is new," said Marie. "Deliberate though. Fish and crabs wouldn't leave a clean slice like this unless they've learned to use knives and forks down there, too."
"The things I've seen in the past twenty years, detective, I wouldn't be surprised if they did," said Mudaffer. "Someone dragged the duffel out of the water in the middle of the night-- probably a hobo looking to score a few useful things. We figured he opened it up, saw the body, and left. As soon as it was light enough out, a group of joggers tripped into it. Literally."
"Wouldn't want to see their therapy bills."
"No, ma'am."
"DNA checks out as mutant?"
Lieutenant Mudaffer blinked. "Erm. He's got striped fur."
"Freak is the new cool. Ziff gives users temporary powers. The latest bodmods can give you ears, tails, and scales. When I was a kid, I knew someone who'd pay two hundred bucks a month to wax all her body hair off. Now you can get fur extensions. Run DNA."
"Yes, ma'am." He signalled for a crime scene tech.
Marie crouched closer to the body. She pulled her every-day gloves off in favour of a pair of nitrile ones from the techs. Her usual gloves had to be waterproof but breathable and thin enough to be useful. Expensive as hell, of course. Good thing she had acquaintances in high places like the Xavier's Institute. To be honest, she thought Hank McCoy appreciated the occasional biochemistry puzzle to break up the monotony of saving the world with his giant brain.
Using long-nosed pliers, Marie lifted the neckline of the vic's shirt then the hem to assess for signs of assault. No visible bruising but a few lighter coloured lines along his stomach that might have been old scars. Marie made a mental note to ask about that in the autopsy. He didn't have pants or underwear on.
"Any clue if he'd been raped?" asked Marie. "Hard to tell from the way the body's lying."
"We haven't checked that yet," said Lieutenant Mudaffer.
"Don't mind if I do the honours." She waved to the nearest tech. "Push one of his knees up."
The tech obeyed, though with some difficulty.
"Rigor?" Marie asked.
"Or bloat," said the tech. "Flesh is real boggy. Makes joint manipulation as much of a bitch as rigor. I hate drownings."
"Yeah, give me a nice, straight-forward burial any day. Water messes everything up." Marie spread the victim's buttocks apart. "No visible external trauma which could mean there was no rape or the water washed away any recent evidence."
"He could be a hooker. Regular, long-term anal intercourse means his body would have adjusted," said Lieutenant Mudaffer.
"We'll just have to chalk this up as one more thing for the coroner to enlighten us with. We can't afford to be sloppy with this case. Let's not assume this is the same asshole as the one I'm tracking down."
"They're all assholes."
Marie managed a grin. "I like to think of assholes as a small, vocal minority. Helps me stick to one drink a night."
"MacTac's holding this one pretty close to its chest," said Mudaffer.
"Not on purpose." She looked around for eavesdroppers before continuing. "You gonna pick up this case for your house?"
"Depends. Is it gonna go through our house?"
"I heard great things about your coroner. We'd like to work with her. If you can clear that, we can see about processing the MacTac cases coming out of the 32nd."
Mudaffer raised his eyebrows. "I'll see what I can do. What can you tell me about this case?"
"In the past three months, MacTac brought four bodies into our caseload," said Marie. "We fished two of them on our side of the Hudson, one on the Bronx side of the Harlem River, and one just under the Roosevelt Bridge. All between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five, all Level 2 or 3 physical mutations, and a high probability that all worked as prostitutes. Same kind of mutilation: noses, ears, fingers, and toes cut off and eyeballs pierced through like grapes. Until this vic, all women."
"Sounds organized to me."
Marie opted to change the subject slightly. "Was this still in the duffel when the joggers found him?"
"Half out. The hobo or whoever seemed desperate enough to go through a dead man's--"
"Boy."
Lieutenant Mudaffer raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"This is a boy," Marie explained. "Maybe late teens or early twenties. He doesn't have the mass of a grown man."
"Could be malnutrition if he grew up a runaway."
"Features are too soft for a runaway. Unmarked. You live on the street that long, you look fifty by the time you're twenty-five. This one, despite his disfigurement, still scans pretty easily as a young adult." She turned the victim's left arm over. Blue-violet scabs decorated the inside of his elbows and forearms where his fur grew thinner. Larger, ragged scars marred the backs on his hands. "Trackmarks."
"Good old fashioned heroin," Lieutenant Mudaffer remarked.
"Still fucking people up after three hundred years. They should make it a tagline. The heroin's consistent with my previous vics anyway. But then so are half the bodies that end up in the fridge. What else have you got for me?"
"We're dredging the river downstream for about a mile to account for the currents. So far nothing suspicious."
"Thanks for trying anyway. You know my number and email. Let me know if you do find anything; I'll be dropping by your precinct--"