Title courtesy of the song "Can't Stay Away" by Velvet Chain.
Bloody Bay had a strange smell. It was something of a mixture of fire-- not smoke, but fire itself-- and slightly stale water, of incense and static and unwashed bodies, and crumbling brick. Really, all one had to do was add the smell of freshly tilled earth and it could perhaps be somewhere in Croatoa...except, of course, for the faint red glow on the horizon. That, she knew from personal experience, was the Bay's Arachnos base. All nice and ominous, that.
Of course, all of it was dimmed when viewed through a somewhat dusty window. It said something that Bloody Bay was better when viewed through a years-old layer of dirt on a pane of glass that'd likely never be cleaned; it made the outside world a little less urgent and real. Besides, the room had curtains, such as they were, and surprisingly there were no bugs. Couldn't ask for more than that, right?
She leaned against the windowframe, elbow resting on the worn wood. Her forehead brushed the back of her hand before strands of red hair-- red this week, anyhow-- obscured her sight. One hand reached behind her to absently scratch her bare backside a moment. She could hear a faint snoring behind her, barely heard over the sounds outside; sounds that told her she should be out there, not inside here. Out being Miss Nox, putting the common criminals and wandering Arachnos agents, among other villainous sorts, away after a nice, satisfying round of beating the everliving crap out of them...not looking out a dirty window while someone who was himself a villainous sort slept nearby.
She turned, looking over her shoulder at the massive back that dented the already strained double bed. Scars crisscrossing oddly fair skin gave testament to occasional battles that edged past his normal invulnerability; she was pretty sure one of them was her doing, even. The blanket had slipped down to where it rested right at his hips...those hips that even with his abnormally great height were still a good size for her legs to--
Gah. Stop thinking about that. This is all sorts of freakin' WRONG...but damn it, there's just something about him...
Of course, a couple of empty wine bottles and countless bottles of stronger stuff spoke of other indulgences of the previous night. At least...well, at least his being with her kept him from doing worse things, right? There, she'd just keep telling herself that, make her feel a little better about this whole deal. So he was a villain and she was a hero. He was eight feet tall and she stood five foot three in her socks. She was classified as a Scrapper and he was a Brute.
And damnit, maybe it was corny to think it, but it was sort of nice to have just the occasional night where she wasn't Miss Nox and he wasn't Abhorrent. They were just Jessica and Frank. It sounded so weirdly suburban. Probably best they chose Bloody Bay...no one could imagine themselves in suburbia while here. She stepped back from the window, drawing the curtains closed and moving back to the bed.
"Hey," she said, shaking his shoulder slightly. "Wake up."
He muttered something mostly incoherent before resuming his snoring.
"Damnit, wake up." She punched his shoulder. Sometimes when dealing with a Brute you had to speak in a language they understood. (The same could, of course, be said for Tankers.) He responded in language that'd make that statue of Atlas drop the world, before turning over to eye her a bit angrily. Her response was just a smirk, as she reached up to touch his face, right under one of his eyes. There was still a faint bruise there, that made her grin at him.
"Really socked you good, didn't I?" she asked, still grinning down at him.
"Are you always this perky when you wake up?" came the question, asked most irritably. His voice was more gravelly than normal.
She pretended she didn't have a pensive moment just minutes ago, the grin turning to a bright-- and yes, perky-- smile. "Not always," she replied. "Just when there's still wine left, and a hot guy in my bed who I got to beat up not long ago--"
"I'm not the one who got knocked flat on my back three times."
"--And it was a total draw, I agree. Besides, this is much more fun, don't you think?" She beamed, just because she knew it made him twitchy when she did so, and wormed her way under his arm to drape an arm and a leg over his torso. "And I promise I won't steal your underwear this time...or try to run it up a flagpole at the Longbow base..."
He just gave her an odd look. "It ever occur to you that you'd get your $#@ kicked by other heroes for all this? I could get congratulated for this, probably get asked when I was gonna kill you in your sleep or turn you toward us, but you'd get your $#@ handed to you." Ironic that the violence-addicted brute would be the voice of reason, wasn't it?
"I know. It's part of the thrill." Besides, as she'd noted before...when he was here with her it meant he wasn't out being all villainous and stuff. He wasn't hurting people, but he also wasn't getting hunted by other heroes. She didn't want to admit to that worry; after all, though he was pretty damned formidable, there were still others, particularly among the heroes, who had greater experience.
So, yeah. She worried. But she wasn't about to tell him...he'd get twitchy. Again. And for the wrong reasons.
He mumbled something about her being kinky or whatever-- she wasn't sure, she wasn't really listening anymore. Instead nestled up against his back, his hand having moved to rest on her thigh as her leg curled over one of his hips. Funny, all of this. Everything she'd done so far in her life coming up to this exact moment. Was that what they meant by karma? Everything that happens in life is a result of what was done up to that moment?
She'd never asked to be a hero, and she knew he hadn't really asked to be a criminal. She'd just been Jessica Knox, a lower middle-class girl from Kings Row who, with the help of scholarship funds, went on to become a student of Theoretical Physics at PCU-- graduating with her Bachelor of Science and with highest honors, then going on to work for her Master's degree. Perhaps she'd even work toward a PhD someday. She was someone who earned her powers through a lab accident with an eccentric professor searching for a new source of energy, then had felt obligated to do something with those weird "negative energy" powers, and...hey, they meshed well with the kickboxing she'd been doing for years...
All things considered, she didn't really know a whole lot about his background, but more than most ordinary heroes tended to learn about a criminal sort. She knew some basics-- he'd once been a prison guard at the Zig. He hadn't been really criminal in mind, just sort of-- well, he'd been kind of a hater, she supposed. From what he said. Mainly when it came to the criminals, and he didn't seem to have any problem getting what he could out of them with the intent of saving up some money someday.
Then stuff happened, he almost died but got changed by some sort of toxic stuff, and now he was the Abhorrent she knew and...something. Not loved, maybe liked, lusted? That kind of worked. Psychotic Brute and fantastic kisser. Sigh.
Her cheek rubbed against the slightly rough skin of his back, a movement he'd likely only barely feel. He seemed to have the same sort of invulnerability that a Tanker she'd taken home one time had. She turned her head, planting kisses and bites along his shoulderblade, which he did feel...and she was rewarded with a slight squeeze of her thigh, then his hand travelling further up her leg and around to her rear. With, of course, another squeeze.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered in his ear.
His response was to turn over in the bed, then kiss her.
Where it all began...
(Story by Abhorrent's player.)
He'd always liked the Bay.
Bloody Bay, that is. After the clean, ordered streets of most of Paragon... After the garbage-strewn paths and alleys of the Rogue Isles... The first day that he'd stepped off the Helicopter, face to face with a coastline illuminated in the red morning light, had felt like his first real breath of fresh air. With a constant hint of ozone.
These small islands had a little bit of everything. Stretching from Arachnos base to its Longbow counterpart, you could find lush forests, antique stone architecture, sprawling factories... Even a casino, although he'd never stepped inside it. Nothing was occupied in this hazardous land, anymore. Not with the Shivans constantly lurking under the surface... He still carried the scars on his back from his first encounter with a Decimator.
As long as you were willing to risk a Shivan oozing its way out of the earth beneath your feet, you could run five minutes in any direction and find yourself somewhere different. Somewhere... Simpler. Preserved. The Bay was a place locked in time, barely changed in over a decade even as the greedy power struggle waged its way back and forth over the surface of it. But if you were quiet, and if you were patient, you could find those nooks and crannies so many overlooked.
It was in one of those nooks that Abhorrent stood today... The breeze was strong on the cliff against his large frame. The tattered cape was flung out by the wind far to the side, folds caught here or there on a barb of razor wire strung around his torso. There was no movement from the giant man, merely eerily silent crackles of red energy travelling down the length of his arms. A breathing statue as he stood watching the Dead Coast.
That was what the maps called it. He hadn't bothered to check a map for a name until days after he'd met her here.
Miss Nox. That felt like so long ago... Much had changed. It'd be less than a week later that he'd make the news in Paragon, a blue heroine crushed under his heel on the street. Chiyonosake and his ninjas holding Longbow forces at bay around him, ignored as he savoured his victory. The lady's name was long forgotten, but he could still remember the frost she'd summoned was melting on his skin as he tore her cape off and tied it triumphantly around his broader shoulders...
It'd be well over a month later before he'd crawl his way over a pile of Mages' bodies to that pedestal in the Circle of Thorns' lair... Slamming stolen artifacts down upon glyphs he couldn't even comprehend so that shapeless things in the dark would mark him with arcane energy. Finally emerging from that cave with lightning caressing its way over his arms, proof for the many eyes of Arachnos that he was not someone to be taken lightly...
It was all about appearances. Everything inside the Rogue Isles is appearance. It took him a while to come to realize that... And why, when he finally did, he'd been eager to escape it. At least just for a little while...
-------------------
The shade kept the late afternoon sun out of his eyes, his mask and razor-lined gloves lying next to him inside the pool of darkness cast by the large boulder. His back leaned against the rock shelf, staring out past the edge of the craggy hunk of rock sheltering him from sight. Waves of blue water were stretched out in front of him, continuing off into the horizon... No matter direction you faced, you'd never see Paragon from here. You'd never see the Rogue Isles.
"Calm blue ocean..." He muttered wryly to himself in that gravel tone before taking a slow drink from the bottle clutched in his fist. A couple more propped against his leg. His costume was even more scratched and torn than usual... Many of the links of razor wire were twisted and broken. Arachnos had paid well for a freelancer, as always, but it'd been a tough mission. He'd been on hand as back up muscle, the extra hands needed to recruit several more of Arachnos' 'Destined Ones'... It was back into Paragon.
Back into the the Zig.
He hadn't even really bothered talking throughout the trip, freeing the hand-picked criminals from cells with barely more than grunts in the direction of the escape tunnel. He hadn't even taken the helicopter all the way back to the Cap... Hopped off here in the Bay, ran a quick attack for his 'side', and then looked for a quiet corner that he--
"Well, what do we have here?"
The voice shook him back to attention slightly, eyes narrowing with a slight [censored] of his head at the lady in blue perched in the air a safe distance away... A scowl settled onto his features, even as he looked her up and down through the tendrils of shadows that curled in the air around her. Eyes pausing at the chest.
"Nice suit," he spoke, finally, without watching for her reaction as he gathered his gloves.
"I'm not in the mood," he added momentarily even as he ran over his goatee to smooth it out. He slowly, deliberately, pulled the gloves back on over his fingers, flexing large hands. This heroine was not the zealous type that would leap in to sucker punch him from behind without warning... Which was really very foolish of her. But not unappreciated, as he rose to his feet, watching her at eye-level even as she floated in the air.
"I'm just enjoying a drink. So why don't--"
"What is that you're drinking?" She broke in quickly, curiousity shining briefly in her eyes as she grinned. He stared at her for a second, the glowering on his own face breaking in confusion.
"Wine... It's wine," he answered finally, lifting the bottle briefly. Continuing with a more arrogant smirk, arching an eyebrow to her that was coated with a set of scabbed cuts. "Longbow commander had them sitting in his office." Letting that hang significantly for a second... Giving her the time to feel that prerequisite menace. "It's no use to him, anymore."
Appearance. Everything in this life... This game... It's all appearance. She'd give him a warning, probably with some awful joke, while he pulled on his mask for that game face. She'd throw up her fists, and he'd have to attack her. They'd brawl until this quiet stretch of sand and rock and water he'd found was nothing but rubble and dirt beneath their feet, until one of them was standing over the other triumphantly...
"Can I have some?"
Her voice broke through his mental preparation, his eyes blinking once more in confusion. "What?"
"Can I have some?" She repeated, in a cheery tone that sounded like it was meant for an inattentive child.
"Okay... Why are you asking me that?" He replied with a frown, holding up the one in his fist and clearly a little rankled at the tease. Shifting a bit in his stance, glancing down at the other bottles.
"Well, technically, right now it's your wine..." She continued, arms crossed over her chest with a smug look of her own. "And I could just defeat you and take it for myself, but it might get smashed in the battle..."
"That's assuming you can beat me," he pointed out.
She made a little off-hand wave with one hand at which he couldn't help but be a bit amused... "True, true. But it would be very rude, and honestly... Even I get a bit tired of all the heroes who think that super powers entitle them to be a**hats."
He watched her silently for a second, the angry mask kept on his features so often having become nearly unsalvageable... "I'm a wanted criminal. Super-powered criminal. You want to share a drink with me?"
Her hands rested on her hips as she shrugged, a grin quirked at him. "I'd rather drink than fight. For now."
His eyes remained locked on hers silently... Eyes narrowing further, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, before he turned his head away to hide a slight grin of his own. A moment later, a bottle of wine was tossed through the air into her outstretched hands. "For now?"
"For now," she answered while popping the cork with a sunny smile. She really was too damn perky.
"Good. Because alcohol makes me aggressive," He pointed out, tipping his own bottle to hers in a sarcastic salute.
"Looking at you, I never would've guessed that," she replied, with a richly sarcastic eyebrow.
This time, he did grin.
It's dangerous enough when a hero and a villain become lovers in secret-- but what happens when they meet each other unexpectedly, in a place like Siren's Call?
Jessica Knox, more commonly known as Miss Nox among heroes, ducked as the lamp shattered on the wall right where her head had been.
She turned briefly, looking at the scratches left on the already battered and peeling wallpaper, then at the remnants of the cheap polyresin decoration, and then at the one who had thrown it at her. His face had taken on a ruddy color-- she knew that was never good. But damnit, she was not going to back down, she was going to stand her ground in this. She had her reasons, and she'd defend them come Hell or high water.
"Do you have any idea how much you humiliated me?!" roared the man before her. Frank Roslin, also called Abhorrent. A villain, a Brute by classification.
She felt her face burn, and knew that her cheeks had turned an unflattering dull pink in her own state of heightened emotion. Lips tightening, eyes narrowing to glittering slits behind her glasses. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, tendrils of negative energy starting to coil around them as she glared back at her oversized lover in the midst of their latest argument. One concerning an unexpected encounter in Siren's Call, that had put her between a rock and a hard place.
"How the f*** was I supposed to know you were in Siren's, much less that you'd be the damned bounty transmitted to us?!" she yelled back. Luckily there was no one else in this abandoned building in Bloody Bay to overhear them...to the best of her knowledge. "Or that my team would decide that they wanted to hunt you down?!"
"You didn't have to f***ing help them!"
Her tone turned scathingly sarcastic. Another form of self-defense... "Oh, right. What should I have told them? 'Gee, sorry guys, I can't go with you after all. You're wanting to hunt down Abhorrent, and he's kind of my boyfriend. Hee hee, oops!'" She snorted in derision.
"So naturally, that meant you had to go after me yourself." He was no stranger to that same sarcasm.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it did. Because if I had to team with them to keep them from turning on me for being a traitor, I'd be damned if I was going to let anyone else be the one to land that last blow." Her face still burned, and her whole petite frame shook with her anger, the dark energy still curling around her forearms in their own ominous fashion.
"Why, so you'd have f***ing bragging rights? You were the one to beat down the infamous Abhorrent?" He sneered at her, face still flushed. She knew he was nanoseconds away from unleashing his full anger on her.
"Because I couldn't f***ing bear the thought of someone else bragging about doing that! Because I couldn't stand the idea of someone else standing over you, because I didn't want anyone else considering you just another notch on their defeat list!" She spat back. "Because ever since we met, I haven't f***ing stopped worrying that someday, it'll be your last, because of some a**hole who thinks his Hero Corps badge entitles him to do anything the hell he wants is long as he brings in a villain, or that someone here in the Isles will decide taking you out will make him look better to f***ing Arachnos, or-- or-- just-- anything that would mean I'd never see you again!" She finally detached herself from the wall to move toward him, entire body tensed. Even if it meant she had to crane her neck back further to meet his gaze, she was not going to cower against the wall in defense of her actions.
"Is that it? You don't think I can take care of myself? You think you have to protect me? Is that right? What is this, some kind of grand plan to make me a hero? You knew what you were getting into and now you're trying to justify what you did in Siren's Call? Why the f*** do you think you can justify being the one in your whole team to defeat me?! Why do you think you have the right to be the only one to do that, and f***ing humiliate me like that?! What gives you the right to assume I can't protect myself?!"
Jessica lost it, then. Angry tears welled up in her eyes-- which made her rage only increase. She hated the way she cried when she got this angry. "Because I f***ing love you!" she shrieked back at him, the tears slipping down her cheeks.
He went silent. She couldn't read his face-- he'd slipped behind that 'invulnerable' mask, as she called it. Right then, she couldn't bear it. She turned away from him, and moved quickly for the door, snatching up her boots and cape as she went.
"Jess--" she heard him say behind her, but it was too late; she'd already pulled that familiar, concealing cloud of negative energy about herself, that obscured her from his sight as she flew down the stairs and out the door. Heading for the Hero base in the Bay, to take that ride back to Skyway City.
The Longbow pilot looked askance at her when she appeared, nose and cheeks a blotchy pink, eyes reddened as she wiped at her nose with one glove. She didn't speak to him, though, nor to anyone. She boarded the copter in silence and stared stonily out the window as it took off from the base.
When there's no other outlet for one's feelings...
Warburg was unsettling. She just didn't like the thought of a place in which heroes attacked each other. Not that she didn't want to smack quite a few upside the head, but still...the 'free for all' notion that the place seemed to foster just didn't sit well with her, so she kept to the assigned missions. She didn't go stalking other heroes, but she'd defend herself if she had to. She just didn't like Warburg. Something about this place surely drove people mad.
But it kept one on one's toes, and that was a distraction Jessica-- Miss Nox needed right about now. Even with the lingering ache of her head, her body punishing her for yet another night's drinking binge, she needed this distraction.
She hadn't set foot in Bloody Bay since that blow-up with Frank-- no no, not Frank, Abhorrent, she reminded herself; she needed to try and establish more mental distance. There had been no manner of communication from him, either. (Though to be fair, she hadn't tried getting in touch recently.) She was admittedly afraid of what seeing him again would bring. Avoiding him so that there wouldn't be that closure of which she was afraid. Ironic, wasn't it? Trying to never see him, in the name of making sure nothing formally ended between them.
Sometimes even she found her own logic baffling.
Mind to the present, idiot hero, she reminded herself. Don't think about him. He's probably out...robbing a bank somewhere. Or, god forbid, beating up more Longbow...don't think about him, think about your mission here...
One by one she cracked her knuckles, crouched beneath a foot-bridge not far from the warehouse that was her destination. The footsteps of rogue Arachnos soldiers sounded nearby, their steady, unison beat accompanied by the shouting of a woman's voice issuing commands. Probably one of those Fortunatas, or whatever they called him. From another direction there came the quiet shifting of metal parts and the surprisingly quiet fall of metal arachnid feet on the pavement-- one of their giant robot spiders, whatever they were called.
Miss Nox wasn't worried about the rogue Arachnos. They could be a tough fight, but she'd thus far proven herself to be even tougher. The real worries came from the other superpowered sorts-- the villains, and to an extent, heroes. She hadn't yet gotten a launch code for one of the rockets in this zone, as it wasn't precisely a great concern of hers...besides, tugging one of those scientists around was like painting a bullseye on her back. Thanks, but no thanks.
She had wrapped herself in that cloak of familiar negative energy, that obscured her from sight except to those nearby; another moment of concentration let her calm and center herself enough to wrap her mind in a similar shield against the psionic attacks used by most Widows or those godawful Tarantula Mistresses. Then some energy shielding, against the soldiers and drones and the like...and she was as ready as she could be. The 'cloak' would let her get the first hit in before they knew she was there, which was to her advantage; it made her harder to hit when they wanted to retaliate. It had always frustrated Frank when they'd spar, and he'd find himself missing more than hitting--
Miss Nox kicked herself mentally. Again. A more fatalistic mindset started to set in, contradicting her earlier wishes for no definite ending. Stop thinking about him. He doesn't care, he's a criminal, you were just a nice, illicit thrill, Jess. He didn't go after you when you left, he didn't say he loved you too, he hasn't tried to get in touch, he probably found some-- some tramp in fishnets by now--
But was it true, or did she just make it up to at once torment herself and make herself feel better? Despite his criminal tendencies and occasional psychosis...he wasn't really that bad a guy. He'd brought her a little snowglobe pyramid bought for her in St. Martial, at the huge casino there. He always knew the right off-color jokes to make her sides ache from laughter. He was even willing to let her teach him how to dance, provided it was only done in private and no one else was told about it. Some of those nights they were together, he'd ramble on about his plans for eventual retirement, while she cuddled up to his side and listened. He was a criminal, but he'd been her criminal. It was easier to handle things if she tried to demonize him in her mind...
She squeezed her eyes shut, tightly. Now was the absolute worst time to get teary-eyed again. She hadn't made it to clearance level thirty-three by being a whiny baby-- it was time to pull herself together. What kind of hero would she be if she let a broken heart stop her? She couldn't imagine Manticore being stopped like that-- and he was, of all the big-name Freedom Phalanx members, her personal hero. Her friend Tirador had once joked about getting her a bracelet that said, "WWMD?": What Would Manticore Do?
He'd do what needed to be done, that's what. Then later, after the job had been finished and it was time to rest, maybe think about the 'other' stuff...friends, former loves, and the like. Not that Jessica knew for certain, but it was what she imagined he'd do. And she could do the same. Just take her frustration out on the rogues, hit and hit and hit until they or she fell, ignoring the pain and stress on her body in the interest of showing these rogues that the heroes were not to be trifled with...
Her chosen battle-cry, its humorous undertones absent this time around, echoed in her mind; it was voiced not in a yell this time, but a hoarse whisper. Carpe noctem, b***hes.
Once again she cracked her knuckles, then darted out from under the sheltering bridge. Dark energy coiled around her fists as the pounding of her stiletto heels on the concrete matched the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Teeth clenched, red lips drawing back in almost a snarl as she threw herself in the middle of the group of rogue Arachnos.
A flurry of punches and one smashing uppercut took out the Blood Widow before her, while she felt the psionic bolt of a Tarantula Mistress shatter on her mental defenses. Two consecutive energy blasts-- or whatever it was that came out of the end of the mace she saw many soldiers carrying-- did edge past her dark armor to propel her a few steps forward. Her body automatically twisted, though, using the momentum to twirl in a spinning punch to the back of a soldier's neck, right below the helmet where his armor had a weaker point, propelling him into the red-hot, scythe-like 'arms' of a fire tarantula that had been moving in for the attack.
Her adrenaline was pumping, heart racing as she launched blow after blow at her opponents, every moment spent spinning and dodging and hitting. The air around her was smoky with the blue-black energy that poured from her very being, the heroic result of an experiment gone awry. The energy that was as much a part of her body and life as the blood rushing through her veins, that not only obscured her enemies' senses but allowed her to heal herself at their expense, and to provide herself a much-needed boost when it seemed as though her body was on the verge of giving out. She was moving almost instinctively, fighting with a single-minded determination on a level she had never before reached. In the midst of it all, a single thought-- a single concept-- penetrated her awareness.
I don't care what happens to me.
With that realization, the world took on a faint red tinge. Suddenly she was not merely fighting Arachnos militants gone rogue, she was fighting what she saw as the living embodiment of everything she hated, of her frustrations and her heartbreak. Whether she triumphed or she fell, she was fighting because she wanted to make someone hurt as much as did.
Tiny frustrations that had built up here and there, about anything and everything, exploded in this moment; for once, instead of suppressing her anger she embraced it and used it to her advantage. She let it fuel her blows, and with each hit made it seemed as though the next was that much more terrible.
Each punch represented a derisive comment from a fellow hero about some citizen or another, or a mocking smirk from some criminal who felt he was above the concept of basic human rights. Each kick was a statement from the elite about keeping their 'hard-earned wealth' while children at her own elementary school back in Kings Row studied obsolete books at broken desks. The spray of blood erupting when her fist was driven into a soldier's face was not simply for the victims 'harvested' by the minions of Vahzilok, but for the Crey experiments on living subjects being overlooked by those in power. The crunch of bone beneath the Fortunata's shattered helm was, finally, for him. Every frustration, every injustice, every inequality surged forth to be pounded into metallic parts and living flesh. Time seemed to be at a standstill.
It was her event horizon, that point of no return where everything afterward was suspended in that moment, in a place of unimaginable gravity. Pulled into that singularity of her undoing.
The blood of her enemies, through whom she had cut a swath like some sort of darkness-fueled tornado, mingled with her own in her mouth, the tastes identical. Only a very few of the rogues stood before her now, and she knew it was in part fear that kept them rooted in place at this point. That deer-in-headlights mentality that overtook the fight-or-flight response as they kept fighting, almost valiantly in their way. She had ridden that wave of rage-fueled adrenaline, and a tiny, horrified voice in her head wondered if this was how he felt when he fought.
She had exhausted herself; those few left could have a chance at finishing her off, even in her uncontrolled state. The leather and fabric of her red and violet uniform, commissioned only a few weeks ago at Icon, clung to her body in shreds. It didn't matter, though. None of it did. Jessica-- for she was more the woman than the hero now, there was very little 'heroic' about any of this-- was still pushing herself forward, surging toward those few remaining even as she felt her negative-energy armor thinning and dissipating with every step. The soldier before her barely had time to aim and fire at her--
--Before an unseen blow came from the side, to send her tumbling into unconsciousness.
The mind of an opportunistic Stalker...
---
Hee hee hee...stupid hero...
If it weren't for the fact that she was invisible, Misty would probably be singing. Something like I enjoy being a Stalker or something of the sort. This was the best part of what she did, when she could sneak up to some oblivious hero-- especially one like this chick, who looked like she was gonna fall over anyway-- and deliver the Ultimate Sucker-Punch with what she fondly called her Glowy Pom-poms of Doom.
Hee. SO much fun. So so so much fun. Though if I break a nail, I'm gonna be pissed and she's gonna PAY...
Sneaksneaksneak...sneaksneaksneak...
Her cute red sneakers made no sound as she approached her target, fists held close to herself, lower lip between her teeth in her focus. Sure, there was still a Longbow base to bomb, but nothing said she couldn't have a little fun on the way, right?
Besides, she was twitchy. Stupid Arachnos contact for some reason didn't want her to kill anyone last time, and Misty was getting restless. What was the fun in kidnapping? The idiots didn't know how to follow her anyway, and she couldn't really threaten them with death for refusing to let her put leashes on them.
Stupid freaking Arachnos, anyway. Didn't they know that red and black was so overdone for villains? It was, like, totally cliche. Though she did have to admit, the Night Widows looked pretty sharp with the purple trim, instead of red.
Oh! Getting off track. Hero to kill, right. Maybe she could get in a killing blow before the teleporter kicked in...that'd totally rock. DoA, baby. Score another one for the Angry Cheerleader.
Why did they still call her that, anyway? She wasn't really angry these days. Maybe when she first started, but still...oh well. It worked. What else would she go by? And it was totally fun fighting in the Facemaker's revamping of her old Steel Canyon High uniform. What did she want to get there next? She changed her uniforms as often as she changed her socks. A girl just got restless sometimes. Hell, she even commissioned a cowgirl outfit, for fun.
Hero. Hero hero hero hero hero.
That's right. Getting off track. Hero-killing now, then costume and maybe sushi later. There was a kinda cute guy she met in Nerva anyway, who said he liked sushi. There was this restaurant in the Giza that had the absolute BEST, she'd have to get him to take her there, then maybe go Carnie-hunting later to the happy calliope music. Misty always liked how they screamed before they collapsed.
HERO. Hero. Focus.
Sneak sneak sneak...crouch down, fists glowing with pink energy, hero still oblivious...then BAM!
The hero went tumbling to the ground, knocked out cold but still alive. Misty smirked, channeling her very own life's energy into the next hit, to make it a decisive one that would definitely put the b***h down. She drew back her fist, glowing eyes narrowing--
--Only to find herself jerked backward by something or someone grabbing her ponytail, making her stumble a moment...
Squaring off over the fallen...
---
His massive hand clenched more tightly around the long blonde ponytail; the brief pull at the roots of the Stalker's hair would give an appropriate glimpse of his strength-- though she already knew how much, and how exponentially, stronger the Brute was-- before he released it. As she whipped about to face him, he stepped between her and the fallen hero.
"What. The. F***." He found himself the recipient of an angry glare from glowing pink-red eyes. "That was totally MY hero, Ab, fair and square. Go find your own to kill."
Abhorrent absently loosened his necktie some, maintaining his cold and impassive facade as he kept himself between his fellow villain and the hero. His eyes narrowed behind the dark glasses, that in no way diminished the menacing look of the parallel claw-marks over one side of his face. Though he turned his face toward the scattering remnants of the Rogue Arachnos, his eyes remained on the young woman as she stood impatiently, chain-wrapped fists planted on her hips. There was nothing relaxed in his posture, though; the tension in his muscles, the steady, brief rise and fall of his massive chest, all spoke of an immense and barely coiled power, even though he refrained from his usual costume this time around.
He didn't wear the costume much these days...his heart hadn't been in it for a while now. Petty squabbles, useless threats, nefarious plots, blah blah blah. All the same. It had all started to run together into a long, senseless grind... But it had gotten him power. It had gotten him status. He was stronger than he'd ever been, stronger than most people ever lasted long enough to get. Strong enough to stand between Misty and an easy kill without fear.
Maybe not the smartest move. They were equally deadly, and he'd long since managed to master a good deal of his instability; the Stalker seemed to revel in her own, despite the medication she'd been given to calm it. So...standing between her and her chosen kill was perhaps not a smart move. But a necessary one.
He let his lips stretch into an easy, superior smirk, staring the young woman down. "I like this one. I think I'm going to find some private tunnels with her...maybe fire off my own rocket." He quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the hidden Longbow base he knew she'd targeted. "But you've got a mission to do."
Abhorrent watched Misty's features shift into a sullen frown. She even kicked a nearby rock. He knew what was going through her mind-- she was rather transparent. He knew she weighed the pros and cons of taking him on, knew she was trying to judge whether it was worth pitting her quick reflexes against one of his killing blows long enough to get in her own hits. He knew she stood a good chance of winning, if quick enough. But he also knew, as well as she, that such inside squabbling in their alliance could call down the wrath of the group's leader, Miss Anthropy. Neither of them liked the idea of being frozen and irradiated, particularly.
"Can't you, like, find some ****** in Port Oakes? I'll totally loan you the money if you need it. Gah. Someone always has to ruin my fun. Why's it have to be my hero? It's not fair." She glared up at him more.
He didn't move, nor change expression. He knew she'd back down-- it was a matter of sheer willpower at this point, and he had his greater age and experience behind him. She'd had a meteoric rise in the Rogue Isles, shooting from the absolute bottom to the highest possible threat level within a matter of months, and at the age of eighteen...but it meant she had far less time to acquire the experience of actually living. He was tougher in spirit than she was.
He stared back at her, and she backed down. Her features shifted from a frown to a pout, before she turned and flounced away. He heard her muttering curses as she leapt away, watching until she faded out of sight. Then it was a matter of making sure no others looked on, that there was no fresh squad of Rogue Arachnos nor other superpowered types around.
Once satisfied that they were relatively alone, he dropped to his knees beside the unconscious hero, taking only a moment to search her costume for the hidden emergency teleportation beacon he knew she wore. A flick of the thumb, and the device was turned off to ensure no interruptions. From there...all that was left to do was find that secluded, secret place.
Large arms slipped beneath her battered body, carefully lifting her up; he hesitated a moment, to look down at her and cradle her more closely to his chest. Keeping her safe and protected as a powerful push from his legs propelled them into the air.
Alone at last.
---
Abhorrent looked down at the unconscious form of the hero laid out on the bare mattress before him. The darkened apartment, long ago abandoned and pre-dating even the Council's occupation of Warburg, was bare of all save a few items of furniture, the bed among them. Through the old wooden blinds over the window he could see the occasional faint flash of battle; it was impossible to tell whether it was between heroes, villains, or the rogue Arachnos that had taken over. Perhaps even the Malta monstrosities that were occasionally glimpsed. He had not yet felt the rumble from underground of a rocket being launched...thankfully. This was one of those few times he truly desired quiet.
She looked helpless. He'd never seen her like this, he'd never watched her sleep-- even if this was unconsciousness, not sleep. She had always woken up before him, greeting him with the sight of her smiling brightly. He couldn't even remember the color of her eyes, just the expressions they reflected, and the way they sparkled no matter the emotion. It was not in her nature to be helpless; that was one of the things about her that had drawn him. That is, after the corset and double D-cups. He was male, after all, even his toxin-induced changes hadn't changed that.
Still, those were even now far from his mind, even with the tattered state of her costume. He focused on her face, sinking to his knees beside the bed, one large hand reaching out to take her comparatively tiny one in his grasp. Abhorrent-- no, at this moment he was not the villain Abhorrent, he was the man Frank Roslin. Frank remained where he was, losing track of the minutes as they ticked by. Watching her for signs of life, that her body mended itself during this deep, vulnerable rest. It wouldn't be hard for him to reach out and snap her neck...he had turned off her teleportation beacon, so that they were completely alone. He could kill her where she lay, and present her dead body triumphantly to his superiors. Reap the glory of defeating one of Paragon City's heroes, and a formidable one at that. Add to his already impressive reputation in the Rogue Isles, as a warning for those, hero or villain, who would seek his downfall.
Even as his hands clenched reflexively, he knew he could not do such a thing. She had wormed her way beneath his skin, and he watched over her with a fierce protectiveness. One intense enough to lead him to challenge one of his own associates for the right to her-- the right to kill her, or so he let them believe. It was all about appearances in the Rogue Isles...and perhaps in Paragon City as well.
Maybe, just maybe, he had a glimmer of understanding as to why she had defeated him in Siren's Call that time, before any of the other swarming heroes had the chance.
He bent over her, lips brushing her ear as he whispered. "Jessica..."
A ghost of a smile touched his forbidding face, as he brushed a few strands of red hair from her face. "Jess...damnit, woman, wake up already. I'm not waiting all night."
A familiar, rumbling voice penetrated the haze that clung to her mind. She smiled automatically, instinctively, at the sound-- in this dimness before full awareness all that her mind would process was that it belonged to something, or someone close to her heart. The words slipped into her consciousness, her eyes slowly blinking open to focus on the scarred face that looked down upon her.
"You--" She coughed. "You shouldn't...rush a lady."
Miss Nox struggled to sit up; even that strain wasn't enough to dampen her mouth. "But...I don't see any here...ugh, god, I feel like I got jumped by a dozen Freakshow tanks, didn't even see that last hit coming..."
As she awoke more memories flooded her mind. Siren's Call, and more recently, Warburg...her near-suicidal charge into the group of rogue Arachnos. Jessica remembered her mindset during that debacle with dismay; the emotional instability, the sheer anger with which he had attacked the soldiers, the way she hadn't even cared what happened to her.
"I'm no kind of hero," she said suddenly, looking up at him. The worst memory was the rush she had felt as she was hitting them, the way her anger fueled her blows, the way she had felt better and better the more she had hurt them. All of it scared her.
His face was barely in focus, without her glasses-- which were probably still in pieces on the ground outside-- but she saw him enough to register his expression. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the arch of an eyebrow. She felt his hands slide around her waist to help her sit upright.
"I only caught the tail end of that," he replied, "But since when does beating the crap out of creepy metal spiders make you a bad person?"
Jessica couldn't look at him, even though she knew he was the last person who'd pass judgement on her for what she considered shameful conduct. "I just...I lost it. I was upset, and started fighting...forgot my mission, didn't care what happened, I just wanted to...hurt someone. It was like everything...everyone...who ever made me mad, coming out at once, and I just hit them over and over...the more I hurt them, the easier it got...the better it felt..." Her voice trailed off at that, gaze focusing on the cuff of his sleeve. She couldn't bring herself to look at him yet, to look him in the eye. Not after what had happened, between Siren's Call and Warburg.
"Thank you," she said at length. Her voice was almost inaudible. The silence afterward stretched out between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing. His slow and deep, hers still somewhat shallow and labored. His hands hadn't left her waist, though. At length he spoke.
"Jess," Was that...amusement in his voice? "That's what we-- Brutes call a 'blind fury'. We're just the ones who admit to having 'em. Hell, we thrive on that. You think that makes you dirty or something, that you got emotional?" One of his hands moved from her waist, and she could hear him scratching the back of his neck. "It just makes you emotional, period. We both know everyone gets that way. Hero or villain. Gets pissed off and loses it."
She felt his finger under her chin, turning her face up to meet his eyes. "You're not gonna run off to the Isles with me and start beating people to a bloody pulp on a daily basis, are you?" Was that a hopeful note in his voice? The corner of his lips twitched upward, eyebrows raising slightly; she couldn't help but smile in return even as she shook her head. "Nah, you didn't lose it."
Jessica continued to smile just a touch, giving an almost sheepish shrug. "You're not gonna run away to Paragon with me, are you? Though I head St. Martial isn't bad, for being over there...kinda like this area's own little Vegas."
His reply was a rather derisive snort. "St. Martial's not so hot. Giza twerps and all. Nerva's much better...I like the jungles. Wild, savage...besides. Johnny Sonata's a soulless dick. Literally."
She leaned against him, silent for a moment. Her eyes closed as well; even beneath the smell of broken pavement, gun oil, and metal that seemed pervasive in Warburg, she could pick up his scent. That faint touch of cigar smoke, the leather from the costume he sometimes wore, and the slight hint of iron beneath that, from old blood. It was a very...villainous scent, but one that made her blood tingle. "I wish I could take you to Croatoa. I mean...you gotta get around the Fir Bolg and redcaps and all...but there's this beautiful pond, where all these sprites float about at night. Just little points of light, really beautiful...
"I'm sorry, Frank. Just...for all of it. I don't know if you'd want to...but...I could pretend nothing happened...I'm sorry for what caused it, and just leaving--" He cut her off, pressing his thumb to her lips. He knew what she was doing; she was rambling, talking because she was nervous. And he wasn't having any of it.
Slowly his thumb slid from her lips, dragging briefly over her lower lip. "I did mean what I said, though," she whispered. He was silent, his face impassive for the moment.
But he did lean down and kiss her more gently than he ever had before, and gathered her into his lap. Jessica was content with that answer as her lips found his once more.
The stories I wrote for this pair-- the Brute Abhorrent and the Scrapper Miss Nox-- are a little scattered, so I'm reposting them here, and in a good order. Included is a story written by Abhorrent's player, that touches upon the first meeting of this unlikely couple.
Thanks to those who gave me feedback on the stories-- I always welcome more, as my storytelling has been honed more by online roleplaying than English classes.
Also thanks to MintCondition, who expressed interest in putting one of my stories of this pair in his City of Stories podcast. If y'all haven't checked it out yet, do so now! There's some great stuff people have written, and the non-story features are also quite good and interesting. (I especially liked the feature on fanfic/story writing.)
And, finally, thanks to Abhorrent's player, a good friend of mine from outside the game (in our RP chat, at that), for the interesting interaction and even plotting for these two. He was kind enough to even do a bit of the roleplaying thing with the pair to help me get a feel for writing his toon in a story.
I hope this doesn't seem superfluous, but I've been enjoying the writing and figure some people deserve some credit.
The main two characters are Abhorrent, aka Frank Roslin, a level 40 Super Strength/Invulnerability Brute; and Miss Nox, aka Jessica Knox, a (still) level 33 Dark Melee/Dark Armor Scrapper.