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Roarr! nanothing.
T__T I'm so LATE. wauuugh.
Also, zomg first draft CLUMSY. I'm not even sure it's internally coherent, and it's still SO FANFICCY. I swear I'm gonna have to delete half of it outright and totally rework the whole storyline from the ground up. That's so inefficieeeeent.
In the other hand, I AM producing more words than I would otherwise. Courage, self. >__> And since I like seeing the little bar fill up, I'm wondering whether I should use it as a motivator for my other stories. Problem now being how do I guesstimate how long a chapter should be... *does not think too much on stupid things at all, noo XD;;*
From the moment Tyr had mentioned their existence, Duane had expected they'd meet locals at some point. The town wasn't so big they could avoid each other forever. He hadn't counted on it happening quite that early, though.
He hadn't counted either on them just utterly not getting he wasn't Joe Mundane. It cracked him up how disgruntled Shy Dave and Grumpy Pat got when he refused to be shaken off after all their purchases were paid for and it was time to socialize.
"He comes with us," said the newcomer who apparently outranked them both, and then it stopped being quite as funny.
The man was a couple of inches taller than Duane himself, close to a head over Tyr. That didn't mean much. He was muscled all over, but not in an inflated bodybuilder, balloony way, and the tendons of his hands jutted out in a way that made Duane think his hold would be damn hard to break. That was slightly more worrisome.
The way he seemed to refuse point blank to try to scare Duane off before Duane heard too much... It should have been reassuring.
If he'd been a brainless twit. Or a too-trusting civilian. Same difference. Guy likely assumed he knew too much already.
So of course Duane came with them, too. Pretty much just followed Pat and New Guy Who Didn't Have The Decency To Wear A Name Tag behind the big great shop. They were at the edge of town, so there was nothing back there but the backsides of other warehouse-like shops and lots of overgrown bushes framing an employee parking and a couple of loading platforms. At this hour the parking was pretty much deserted.
"Okay," the guy said, turning on his heel to face them. He planted his feet well apart, a solid stance. Gave Duane a critical once over. Went back to Tyr. Funny how they all addressed him and only him, as if Duane was a child or a mentally challenged hanger-on. "What does he know?"
"Everything I know," Tyr replied, calm and unruffled as ever, and then he fell silent.
The guy's eyelid twitched. Duane let out an amused snort.
"And what do you know?"
"It would be faster to list what I don't, I think," Tyr replied, looking bothered not at all. Grumpy-Pat winced; Tyr took pity on him, sort of. "I know that in two weeks I'll change or die."
Still-Nameless scowled harder then, though not the same way. At first he'd just been generally pissed off, but then he went kind of ... suspicious, big black eyebrows furrowing like someone who's thinking 'wait, that doesn't fit'. "... You're not scared."
Tyr tilted his head slowly, considering. "Not really."
Duane snickered, and didn't even try to hide it. He hadn't known Tyr long, but long enough to know he was annoyed by the interrogation, and so he was annoying them right back by being a cryptic little fuck.
Nameless and Tyr started to get into another staring contest. Duane yawned and sat his ass on a car. "Hey, Pat."
The manager frowned at him, though his gaze immediately went back to the silent contest.
"Patty, honey, if you keep ignoring me like that I'm gonna throw you in the bin for real," he said in as pleasant a voice as he could manage. When Patrick stared at him again, offended, he smiled a sweet, totally fake little smile, not even bothering to make his eyes anything but flat. "What's the problem here? Apart from the little 'who's got the bigger dick' contest."
Because it was kind of obvious that it their little world got so upset every time there was a change in the hierarchy they wouldn't go very far. Unless they were really freaking useless, the lot of them, which he wasn't ruling out yet. Most people were retards, no reason to think part-time furriness cured you of that.
"He should have told us he was coming in town," Patrick informed him curtly, voice quiet like he didn't want to disturb the contest. Still ongoing, what the hell.
"Hey, guys, your eyes are gonna get all dried out if you don't blink a little more often."
"Duane, lay off," Tyr replied without even breaking eye contact.
Duane sighed. "If you insist. Hey, big guy, what's your name anyway? He's Tyr. I'm Duane. You?"
He was probably of Hispanic descent -- Mexican or what else, Duane didn't have a clue, but the skin tone and dark eyes and hair hinted pretty loudly at it. Probably mixed, but not very much.
"Names don't matter. Shut up."
Also, he was a jerk. Duane started smirking like a happy shark and pushed himself off his seat.
That was when Tyr's eyes narrowed and his upper lip twitched faintly. Duane wasted a second trying to name the expression. He eventually placed it under the term 'dislike', just a little stunned. Wow. How unexpected.
"Don't tell him to shut up."
With great regret, Duane realized that if he wanted one of them to play the peacekeeper and make sure it didn't degenerate into a fight, he was gonna have to do it himself. He wouldn't mind kicking that guy's ass -- or at least trying, no clue how much better a natural was than they were, though they didn't have the benefit of army training -- but it looked like Tyr wasn't feeling reasonable at the moment, which was just plain bizarre.
Then again this was the calm, thoughtful, patient, reasonable guy who'd started stalking hapless contractors around the house the second he'd gone off his meds.
"... Alright. Stop right there, both of you. Much as it pains me, we're not gonna solve that by a fight."
That was when Nameless went low to the ground and pounced on him.
Even Supes weren't that fast. Duane saw it coming -- the guy had more or less telegraphed his moves -- but even as he threw himself back and rolled over the hood of the car, he knew he was too slow. The guy snatched his ankle and dragged him off the hood; he landed on his ass with bone-jarring force, and then the guy was on top of him and holy fuck he had fangs.
It wasn't even just longer, thicker canines at this point, it was a full dog mouth collection, sharp edges and pointy bits as far back as he could see. Even the tongue looked off.
So Duane grabbed the guy's collar and braced his forearm against his collarbone, and the guy snorted in contempt and forced his full weight on it, at which point Duane sank the first two inches of his hunting knife under his ribs and up.
"Yeah, keep pushing," he said, and smirked.
There was a sound of flesh against flesh on the other side of the car. Duane heard military-issue boots stomping their way to them and then one of them appeared, flying, kicking the guy in the ribs so hard he was thrown against the tire and dented the metal. Duane kneed up blindly -- not into anything squishy and ball-shaped, regretfully -- and rolled to get out from under him, knife still in hand.
He moved into a low crouch, knife held ready. A hand on the blood staining his shirt, the guy was glaring murder at Tyr like he'd done something low -- like, say, attacking him unprovoked. Boohoo, poor guy, couldn't even tear people's throats out in peace. Didn't seem in shock from getting cut, though, which was too bad but not unexpected.
Since Tyr had his eye on Asshole, Duane scanned the area for Patrick. Didn't find him on the first sweep, but that was because he'd been looking too high. His beak-nosed head was swinging dizzily over the hood, on the other side of the car. Tyr must have punched him to the ground. Good.
"Next time I'm killing you," Duane informed Nameless Asshole with a tooth-filled shark grin on his face.
There was blood on the tip of his knife. Tyr's knife was still clean. Very clean. Gleaming, even. Sharp. Nameless glanced at it, and looked wary for a second before he snarled at them -- still with that mouthful of dog teeth in his otherwise normal face, god but that was disturbing. He slowly moved to crouch there against the car, but when he started straightening up Tyr narrowed his eyes at him.
"Stay down."
Didn't look so out of control now. Didn't look out of control at all, to be frank. Duane knew all about the program's risks of emotional instability, so if he had accidentally pissed off the guy so badly he wanted to kill Duane for it, that wouldn't have surprised him. To be honest, he could push people with zero medical no-nos on file to murder, too, if he tried...
The attack had been deliberate.
"What the fuck were you doing, exactly?" Duane asked.
Nameless snorted, glared up at Tyr. "You don't know anything. Back off."
He was ignoring him again. Duane was getting pretty fed up with that.
"I see no reason for you to attack my partner."
"That's because you don't know anything!"
"So fucking tell me!" Tyr snarled without warning, upper lip curling -- another expression Duane had never seen on him.
The guy got up and growled back, honest to God growled, a sound a human throat shouldn't have produced -- not and have it come out that naturally. "He knows about us!"
"So what?"
"I don't know who the fuck bit you, but they should be shot for letting you go off on your own -- goddamnit, who else have you told?!"
He was working himself up into a towering fury, totally forgetting his wound, which should have gushed more than that at this point. Duane noted it down -- then rewinded his words, and nodded to himself as the last piece of the puzzle slotted into place, and then he laughed in his face.
Even Patrick turned to stare at him, standing on the other side of the car and still using it for balance and yet finding the time to give him a 'what the hell' look. Nameless started growling again.
"Oh, that's fucking rich," Duane drawled, waving his big, sharp hunting knife a bit to remind him of its existence. "You're a retard, you know that?"
"I could kill you with one hand," he said, glaring daggers.
Duane snorted, and flicked the blood off his blade, splattering the guy's pants. "Yeah, 'cause your teeth totally have more range than mine. Stand down, Rex. What did you think you were doing?"
Guy didn't seem to be about to say a thing. Patrick was the one who answered, eyeing them all warily, though this time around he actually did Duane the courtesy of looking at him for more than two seconds when he spoke.
"It's the rules. If someone learns about the pack... They've got to be bitten. We can't trust them not to talk if they have no good reason not to. So we give them one."
"Uh huh, 'cause attacking someone makes them want to protect your secret. Logical."
Patrick scowled. "When it becomes their secret as well, yes it does!"
"Either way they stop being a problem," Nameless muttered under his breath.
"Now what does that mean?" Duane inquired mildly. Nameless refused to answer, but the tone had been clear enough; he saw nothing wrong to Duane ending up dead as long as he didn't blab. Duane gave a snort of disgust. "You guys realize that the military already knows your big secret, right? If they wanted you all in labs you'd be there already. There's healthy paranoia and then there's tin-hats."
Patrick froze like a deer in headlights. Nameless did a full-body twitch.
"--You're military?"
"Yes," Tyr said. He stared at them for a few seconds, then slowly lowered his weapon and took a deliberate step back. "I wasn't bitten by anyone. I was injected."
Duane let out a short sigh; he'd have been perfectly happy to keep threatening the asshole until the cows came home. He had to admit he was going to get a cramp if he didn't move, so he straightened slightly as well. The knife stayed up, though.
Nameless stared at him hard for another couple of seconds, and then his expression went closed off. "... I see."
"No, you don't see," Duane snapped, suddenly irritated. "We spent the war killing things. Next time there will be no brawling. You'll just be dead."
The guy sneered. He still had that mouthful of weird dog teeth; made his voice sound slightly off. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Tyr answered before Duane could. He said it a lot more calmly than Duane would have, too. "It's peace time. That means you get a warning shot. You just spent yours." He sighed, frowned in a faintly irritated way. "I'm stationed at the local base. I didn't come here to invade your territory. If there are problems, we can talk them out. There's no need to be violent."
Nameless snorted, disdain clear on his face. He turned around without warning and stalked around the car and away, showing them his back in an almost insolent display of 'I'm so not scared of you and I don't even care anymore, so hah' that Duane couldn't do anything but roll his eyes.
"What a drama queen."
Patrick still stood a car length away, fists clenched in powerless frustration as he watched his superior move away. The guy was almost all the way to the building already. Patrick glared at Duane, but it didn't look very convincing. "Oh, shut up -- Marcos! We've still got stuff to tell them--"
"Heel," Marcos threw over his shoulder.
"Ooh, I wouldn't have liked that," Duane said, innocent as possible. "It's like he thinks you're a dog or something."
Patrick glared at him again.
"Listen -- military -- that's -- shit." Patrick raked a hand through his hair. "You still have things to learn, and -- we've got your address on file, okay? We'll see you."
Duane wasn't sure whether that was a threat or a promise or what, but before he could make sure, Patrick had turned away and left as well. Blinking slowly, he turned to Tyr.
"Well. That was enlightening. Now we know the locals are a bunch of secretive dickheads with a persecution complex."
"Mmh." With a thoughtful frown on his face, Tyr slid his knife back in its ankle sheath. Duane looked for something to clean his own on, then shrugged and used his sleeve. The old button-up shirt was already dirty from all the remodeling anyway.
"You think this Marcos guy was the top dog?"
Tyr snorted. "No. Second or third, at best."
"Yeah?" Duane prompted him.
"He wouldn't have backed off until he'd fixed the problem otherwise. He went because he needed to consult someone about the protocol."
"Hm. Yeah, sounds likely." That or he'd gone looking for reinforcements.
Duane rolled his shoulders slowly as he and Tyr started to walk around the building, going back to their own car. He healed faster than normal people but he was going to have bruises for a little while anyway. Good day, good day.
He still wished he could have fought that guy on his own. It rankled a bit he'd managed to get the drop on Duane like that. Next time he'd be more aware of how fast they moved. He wouldn't get caught by surprise again.
He wouldn't give him time to heal, either. Even though -- shit, he hadn't sunk the knife organ-deep, but he had the feeling by the time Marcos left it had already been half closed.
He'd have to test whether they healed so nicely from a blade through the heart as well.
"Hey, Tyr?" he asked, scanning the visitor parking lot mechanically.
"Hm?"
"They're delivering our shit tomorrow, right?"
"Yes?"
"It's likely the furry ones will use that excuse to drop in, right?"
Tyr paused as he was opening his car door. "...Yeah?"
"How do you think you're going to handle a bunch of 'em at the house? What with how you couldn't handle regular people and all."
"--Ah."
By the sudden, startled grimace on his face, the answer was 'not well.'
Duane sighed philosophically, and flopped in his seat. "Yeah, that's what I figured." He burrowed in his seat as Tyr started driving and smirked to himself. "Sounds like fun times for all."
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I adore this sort of shit... I don't know what it is... but I've always.. adored the "You have no idea what I am about" reveals. I mean.. they're sometimes so cliche and "I am a vampire! blarg!" but like this? how you did it? LOVE.
as for watching the meter fill up... well... I can think of two ideas:
1: go back to your last year or so of writing and check out the average length of each of your chapters and average them out (or find the mean, whatever) and round it up or down a little to be a round number.
2: set a number--say, 1000 or 1500, or something--and start measuring in bars. "Wow.. this story is already 30 bars long..."
I think the first idea is a little more graceful, in my opinion XD
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Super-critical Asuka is Super-critical. *petpet* Remember the power of positive thinking? Human beings are susceptible to suggestion, even from themselves.
I mean, you have all the right in the world to crit your own work, and certainly nobody will ever judge it as harshly as you do. It's just that it's distressing to read a story where the author doesn't seem to like what they're writing. The colored bar isn't the only thing you're getting out of this, is it? Don't you love the story itself, at least a little-tiny, itty-bitty bit?
Well, we over here in the fan-base do. Duane is delightful and Tyr is...something else. I really enjoy his understated intensity. There's this very quiet glee building in the back of my head in anticipation of the havoc waiting to happen.
In other words, we're ignoring the technical details in favor of the plot, until after the writing spree is over. Sweet darlin', you're an awesome writer, seriously. Don't let the details bog you down, nothing you're doing is set in stone. ♥ ♥ ♥
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Honestly I think my favourite part of all this is Duane wanting so bad to be an antagonist but knowing that he has to be peacekeeper. And then being an antagonist anyway xD Also Tyr's intensity, especially in this scene is just so delicious!
I am more than willing to ignore the technical aspect until after you've finished fleshing out the plot and character parts of it. Though I have to admit the mental image of a human mouth full of dog teeth is just horrific and vivid :D
Also, I know this isn't the time or place for it but when you're doing rewrites I think the narrative of this scene needs some work. Dunno if it was just me but for a while there I was having issues following the physical aspect of it all, ie. where everyone was and what they were doing. The emotions and tension came across really well but what happened to Dave? For some reason I though he was in the alley with them.
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"How do you think you're going to handle a bunch of 'em at the house? What with how you couldn't handle regular people and all."
"--Ah."
By the sudden, startled grimace on his face, the answer was 'not well.'
Ahhh, even if this needs editing etc... it definitely makes me happy to read the rough rough draft. I imagine finished copy will be even better.
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Best line. A lot of control, there, too. He really was letting the guy off with a warning.
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