Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Victor mini-drabbles

A bunch of Victor mini-drabbles for my character claim over at x_men100. Ratings go from G to very mild R, mostly for language. Victor-centric for the most part, though a few lean towards Victor/Raven.

#1 Illusion
He played at the reluctant teammate with those do-gooders, giving them the false sense of security that he was safe to be around. One of these days someone was going to screw up and give him the opportunity to escape that damn mansion.

#4 Marvel
“So this is what you were famous for,” Victor told the architect on the floor. The architect said nothing; his eyes were already glazing over and the blood around his body cooling. Maybe Victor would buy the place with the money he earned for the hit. The house on the lake was indeed a work of art. “Nice digs.”

#6 Body
He had a membership to a local gym. He didn’t know why he signed up for it either; it wasn’t like he had to work especially hard to keep himself in shape or anything. He guessed it was a good way to kill a few hours each day and jogging back to his place afterwards made him feel as if he had accomplished something.

#7 Heart
He passed the aisles with the laced trimmed hearts and bypassed the sappy, sentimental cards. He idly wondered where the store kept the valentines for gun toting mutant assassins who held a mutual love/hate relationship with ex-covert op agents turned hit men.

#8 Curve
Driving with the top down and the radio blaring was one of his guilty pleasures. He’d always loved feeling the wind in his hair and the highway under him as he cruised along curving roads.

#9 Path
He’d once read a book about how people chose to walk paths of peace or destruction and how their actions shaped their lives. It had been a bunch of bullshit, in his opinion. He didn’t need a book to tell him anything; he’d walk wherever the hell he wanted to, be there a path under his feet or not.

#10 Shoes
He was particular about his footwear, buying from special order catalogues instead of local shops. If he had a quirk, this would be it. It creeped him out to buy from places that actually let people try on shoes before paying, not liking the idea that some guy with overly sweaty feet had tried on the boot he had considered buying.

#12 Tumble
Sunday nights were spent sitting in a cracked plastic chair watching the laundry tumble around in the large metal dryers and listening to the laundromat owner tell rambling war stories that sounded more like outtakes from the Dirty Dozen than anything Victor himself had ever experienced. He’d buy a washer and dryer of his own, but he figured that a few dollars’ worth of quarters every week was a fair enough trade for human contact that never asked questions about his past and only thought he was a regular guy that just happened to be a World War two aficionado.

#13 Feet
He wondered why Raven bothered wearing the high heeled shoes she always did, especially since she spent the moments off her feet hissing in pain and rubbing her sore arches. Still, he thought those fuck-me white boots of hers made her legs look sexy as hell.

#14 Kissing
He can’t recall his first kiss – his mind doesn’t dwell on sappy crap like that and besides, he’s either lived too long to actually remember it if he cared to or someone had already wiped it from his memory – but he does remember a woman kissing him with tenderness, a first in his book. Of course it turned out that she had lied to him all along and had run out on him soon after, taking with her the son he never knew she was carrying and any hopes that someone out there might truly love him after all.

#20 Benevolence
“You have to help me,” the test subject that shared his cell pleaded. He was a scrawny little thing, scarred from the many trips in and out of the labs. “I can’t take this any more.” The man’s eyes were pleading.

“You sure you want my help?” What he wouldn’t give for a smoke right now.

The man nodded. “I’m sure.” Victor didn’t flinch at the feel of vertebrae snapping under his fingers and only crinkled his nose as the scent of the man’s death filled the tiny cell. He went back to his corner and wished again for cigarettes, trying to ignore the grateful look forever frozen on the nameless man’s face.

#22 Charity
“Blood money?” Raven once asked, watching him write a check for a large sum to a local organization.

“Something like that,” he answered, not looking up as he signed the false name the checking account was under. Making a donation that helped children of abusive fathers was a lot easier than hunting down each of the lowlife scumbags himself. He’d tried that once, but their screamed denials about pliers and chains and basements hadn’t been satisfying at all; they just made him feel hollow.

#40 Cleanse
He stood in the shower and watched the pink rivulets of blood swirl down the drain, the only physical evidence that someone had tried to take a pot shot at him earlier that night. The dumbass who had tried was now packed deep inside a dumpster near the harbor where no one would find him easily.

#42 Blank
He liked women, that was no secret. He liked their smooth skin, their generous curves, all the things that set them apart from himself. What he always drew a blank on and could never explain was why he liked a certain blue skinned woman who tended to either lie to him or try to kill him on a regular basis.

#43 Venom
Poisons were the worst to get over. They made the room fuzz out and spin uncontrollably and it felt as if fire was running through his veins until he worked the last bits out of his system. Then again, there were a multitude of poisons that either slowed down or temporarily blocked his healing factor and damned if the bastards in their white coats didn’t try them all, making notes the entire time.

#44 Caress
“You need a haircut,” Raven once told him as they lay in bed together, still in a tangled mess of arms and legs. He hadn’t answered, pretending for a brief second that the casual flick of her fingers had been a lover’s touch instead of an impatient swipe to get the hair out of his eyes.

#46 Drift
It was a known fact that Creed never paid much attention to mission briefings, preferring to let his eyes go out of focus and whatever words were being said drift over him in a sea of “blah blah blah.” If he missed anything important past ‘kill the target,’ Logan would fill him in later.

#48 Murder
While he liked the movies with the elaborately choreographed fight scenes or elegantly done wire-fu and flicks where the acting was horrible but something blew up in a spectacular show of pyrotechnics every other frame, he enjoyed the old fashioned film noir whodunit mysteries the best.

Latest Month

February 2019


Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Paulina Bozek