06-29-2018, 11:28 PM
“Holy shit!” the one who insisted on being called ‘Star-Lord’ exclaimed, “She’s got a dog!”
The human man bolted toward the mysterious Hunter, met halfway by the incredibly social corgi who seemed to be her companion. The man and man’s best friend convened adorably for several moments while Eleanor observed the huge rivet gun she’d summoned when they’d been ambushed by those soldiers. It looked altogether like Subject Delta’s: intimidating, cobbled together with pieces of rusted metal, and altogether massive, unable to be wielded by humans back in her old world. Here, something about the weapon just fit; as if when she’d made it, she’d made it just for herself.
Gambit looked curiously at her and the thing. “Big gun for an ‘umble chef, eh?”
Eleanor’s eyes flicked snidely up toward the Frenchman. He gestured to the grease-laden chef’s outfit that still clung to her body. She let out a small grunt, and then waved her hand in front of her chest and the uniform faded away in favor of her metallic Big Sister armor. She slung the rivet gun over her shoulder and abandoned Remy’s gaze for the quartet of stormtroopers that lay crumpled just a few feet away.
“We’ve got to move,” the Hunter spoke up, noting Eleanor’s shifted focus.
“Agreed,” Remy nodded.
Eleanor sauntered much too calmly toward the four bodies, readily gripping the handle of her syringe attachment. The needle glinted in the flashing lights of Tier One, mesmerizing the other three primes noticing it for the first time. Quill took a step back as El passed him, the sharpness reminding him vaguely of one too many trips to the doctor as a kid. Kneeling beside one of the alabaster-armored men, she reached down and jabbed the needle menacingly into the black, rubbery material on his neck connecting his helmet to his chest plate. Her expression twisted with effort, and she shoved the needle all the way through until it sunk into his skin. For a moment, nothing happened.
“So… chef girl,” Peter piped up, “I don’t mean to ruin your weird sick revenge fantasy stabby thing, but I think they’re good and dead…”
“Wait,” the Hunter held up a hand, and the three primes watched as the stormtrooper began to gradually melt back into his essence: pure, rainbow-colored omnilium, which Eleanor sucked up into the syringe and stored in the compartment hanging just beneath her left arm. As the omnilium flowed into the storage tank, the Empire enforcer dissolved—skin, armor, everything—until nothing was left.
Peter’s mouth hung agape. “What… the actual… fuck? Did you just eat that guy?!”
“How did you just…” Remy blinked, and stepped back, having a minor freak out moment.
The Hunter was not quite as reviled. “Do it to the others,” she nodded.
“Excuse me,” Star-Lord gawked, “you’re saying you want vampire chick here to disintegrate the others? Are you crazy? Suffering from some sorta brain trauma, or…?”
“Oui, I’m not sure I can—”
“Do you have any other suggestions on how to clear your tracks?” the Hunter whipped around to face the boys. “Our tracks,” she corrected, and against their better judgments, the men in their new motley crew of allies remained quiet. She turned to the Big Sister. “Absorb them.”
Eleanor obliged. Her muscles tensed with each stab, then loosened as the pure omnilium disappeared into her canister. She steeled her expression to hide the… ecstatic feeling it gave her, and luckily the other three primes were too busy bickering over their next steps to see the hints of a smile that crossed her face—the first one since she’d run into Quill and Remy, for sure.
Was this what it truly felt like when she’d traveled with her Father as a little girl? When he’d slaughtered any enemies that would dare threaten her, and then she had bled them dry of their ADAM once they were good and dead? Was this the thrill her Mother had robbed her from, and the pleasure her Father had denied when he’d saved her sisters instead of harvesting them?
‘Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work,’ Aristotle said, and by the looks of the clean street after Eleanor finished, she was inclined to agree. She let out a few pants, exhausted by the effort but astounded that such a task had left nary a blood stain on the metallic pathway. She’d wiped the road clean.
Behind her, her three unwitting companions continued to wonder aloud about the geography of Coruscant, where they could go, and how wherever they were going, they needed to go quick before more backup arrived.
“The lower tiers,” El spoke at last, glancing over her shoulder at the trio. They paused their bickering briefly. “The Empire’s presence is lessened on the lower tiers.”
“Well, that sounds like the place to be right now, vampire chick,” Peter Quill threw his hands up.
Eleanor’s forehead trembled at the idea of returning to a place lower than the top tier. She’d run into some foreboding characters even on just the second one, and if rumors were true, people’s morality and sense of decorum only degraded the lower down you got.
The ever-perceptive Hunter caught that glimpse of nerves flashing across Eleanor’s countenance and stepped toward the former experiment. “What’s wrong with the lower tiers?”
“They’re lawless,” Eleanor darted her eyes warily up to meet the woman’s. For the first time, she truly took in the form of the prime that had, essentially, saved them. The metallic glint of the skyscrapers and the blinding lights illuminating the area reflected magnificently off her dark skin, a striking contrast to how they washed out Eleanor’s pale complexion; she stood with a certain adventurous authority, seemingly weathered from one too many strenuous journeys.
The Big Sister bit her lip; surrounded by brash men and their enigma savior, she felt like a fetus in a womb, a restrained child, permanently grounded, kept at bay from engaging with the world in the ways she wished to. She could feel her Mother’s manicured fingers gripping her shoulder, threatening to drag her back into a world of isolation she’d only just abandoned.
She ripped free of the bitch’s grasp.
“Lawless but safer,” she decided for the group, brushing past the Hunter, Remy, and Peter. “There’s probably a maintenance shaft nearby—it won’t smell good, but we should attract less attention there than the elevators. If we can get to Tier Four, we should be safe from unwanted eyes.”
Behind her, the trio of primes and one dog fell into step. As Peter riddled the Frenchman’s ears with more exclamations about the wildness of their situation, the Hunter and Junior kept step with the Sister.
Eleanor snuck a glance in the woman’s direction. “Thanks for helping us,” the girl forced a small smile.
“Thank you for leading us to safety,” the violet-haired gunslinger clapped a hand to Eleanor’s shoulder, gesturing to the maintenance shaft just ahead. The syringe on Eleanor’s arm twisted and reorganized its molecules until it had transformed into a rusty, frightening drill. She jammed the drill into the space between the shaft’s doors and wrenched it open.
Inside, a big ‘1’ was spray-painted in burnt orange on the wall, behind a rope—most likely connected to an elevator—that hung from the ceiling, extending down the length of the passage. The pair of female primes could only see a few meters before darkness washed everything away.
The raven-haired girl sighed anxiously. “Don’t thank me yet.”
The human man bolted toward the mysterious Hunter, met halfway by the incredibly social corgi who seemed to be her companion. The man and man’s best friend convened adorably for several moments while Eleanor observed the huge rivet gun she’d summoned when they’d been ambushed by those soldiers. It looked altogether like Subject Delta’s: intimidating, cobbled together with pieces of rusted metal, and altogether massive, unable to be wielded by humans back in her old world. Here, something about the weapon just fit; as if when she’d made it, she’d made it just for herself.
Gambit looked curiously at her and the thing. “Big gun for an ‘umble chef, eh?”
Eleanor’s eyes flicked snidely up toward the Frenchman. He gestured to the grease-laden chef’s outfit that still clung to her body. She let out a small grunt, and then waved her hand in front of her chest and the uniform faded away in favor of her metallic Big Sister armor. She slung the rivet gun over her shoulder and abandoned Remy’s gaze for the quartet of stormtroopers that lay crumpled just a few feet away.
“We’ve got to move,” the Hunter spoke up, noting Eleanor’s shifted focus.
“Agreed,” Remy nodded.
Eleanor sauntered much too calmly toward the four bodies, readily gripping the handle of her syringe attachment. The needle glinted in the flashing lights of Tier One, mesmerizing the other three primes noticing it for the first time. Quill took a step back as El passed him, the sharpness reminding him vaguely of one too many trips to the doctor as a kid. Kneeling beside one of the alabaster-armored men, she reached down and jabbed the needle menacingly into the black, rubbery material on his neck connecting his helmet to his chest plate. Her expression twisted with effort, and she shoved the needle all the way through until it sunk into his skin. For a moment, nothing happened.
“So… chef girl,” Peter piped up, “I don’t mean to ruin your weird sick revenge fantasy stabby thing, but I think they’re good and dead…”
“Wait,” the Hunter held up a hand, and the three primes watched as the stormtrooper began to gradually melt back into his essence: pure, rainbow-colored omnilium, which Eleanor sucked up into the syringe and stored in the compartment hanging just beneath her left arm. As the omnilium flowed into the storage tank, the Empire enforcer dissolved—skin, armor, everything—until nothing was left.
Peter’s mouth hung agape. “What… the actual… fuck? Did you just eat that guy?!”
“How did you just…” Remy blinked, and stepped back, having a minor freak out moment.
The Hunter was not quite as reviled. “Do it to the others,” she nodded.
“Excuse me,” Star-Lord gawked, “you’re saying you want vampire chick here to disintegrate the others? Are you crazy? Suffering from some sorta brain trauma, or…?”
“Oui, I’m not sure I can—”
“Do you have any other suggestions on how to clear your tracks?” the Hunter whipped around to face the boys. “Our tracks,” she corrected, and against their better judgments, the men in their new motley crew of allies remained quiet. She turned to the Big Sister. “Absorb them.”
Eleanor obliged. Her muscles tensed with each stab, then loosened as the pure omnilium disappeared into her canister. She steeled her expression to hide the… ecstatic feeling it gave her, and luckily the other three primes were too busy bickering over their next steps to see the hints of a smile that crossed her face—the first one since she’d run into Quill and Remy, for sure.
Was this what it truly felt like when she’d traveled with her Father as a little girl? When he’d slaughtered any enemies that would dare threaten her, and then she had bled them dry of their ADAM once they were good and dead? Was this the thrill her Mother had robbed her from, and the pleasure her Father had denied when he’d saved her sisters instead of harvesting them?
‘Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work,’ Aristotle said, and by the looks of the clean street after Eleanor finished, she was inclined to agree. She let out a few pants, exhausted by the effort but astounded that such a task had left nary a blood stain on the metallic pathway. She’d wiped the road clean.
Behind her, her three unwitting companions continued to wonder aloud about the geography of Coruscant, where they could go, and how wherever they were going, they needed to go quick before more backup arrived.
“The lower tiers,” El spoke at last, glancing over her shoulder at the trio. They paused their bickering briefly. “The Empire’s presence is lessened on the lower tiers.”
“Well, that sounds like the place to be right now, vampire chick,” Peter Quill threw his hands up.
Eleanor’s forehead trembled at the idea of returning to a place lower than the top tier. She’d run into some foreboding characters even on just the second one, and if rumors were true, people’s morality and sense of decorum only degraded the lower down you got.
The ever-perceptive Hunter caught that glimpse of nerves flashing across Eleanor’s countenance and stepped toward the former experiment. “What’s wrong with the lower tiers?”
“They’re lawless,” Eleanor darted her eyes warily up to meet the woman’s. For the first time, she truly took in the form of the prime that had, essentially, saved them. The metallic glint of the skyscrapers and the blinding lights illuminating the area reflected magnificently off her dark skin, a striking contrast to how they washed out Eleanor’s pale complexion; she stood with a certain adventurous authority, seemingly weathered from one too many strenuous journeys.
The Big Sister bit her lip; surrounded by brash men and their enigma savior, she felt like a fetus in a womb, a restrained child, permanently grounded, kept at bay from engaging with the world in the ways she wished to. She could feel her Mother’s manicured fingers gripping her shoulder, threatening to drag her back into a world of isolation she’d only just abandoned.
She ripped free of the bitch’s grasp.
“Lawless but safer,” she decided for the group, brushing past the Hunter, Remy, and Peter. “There’s probably a maintenance shaft nearby—it won’t smell good, but we should attract less attention there than the elevators. If we can get to Tier Four, we should be safe from unwanted eyes.”
Behind her, the trio of primes and one dog fell into step. As Peter riddled the Frenchman’s ears with more exclamations about the wildness of their situation, the Hunter and Junior kept step with the Sister.
Eleanor snuck a glance in the woman’s direction. “Thanks for helping us,” the girl forced a small smile.
“Thank you for leading us to safety,” the violet-haired gunslinger clapped a hand to Eleanor’s shoulder, gesturing to the maintenance shaft just ahead. The syringe on Eleanor’s arm twisted and reorganized its molecules until it had transformed into a rusty, frightening drill. She jammed the drill into the space between the shaft’s doors and wrenched it open.
Inside, a big ‘1’ was spray-painted in burnt orange on the wall, behind a rope—most likely connected to an elevator—that hung from the ceiling, extending down the length of the passage. The pair of female primes could only see a few meters before darkness washed everything away.
The raven-haired girl sighed anxiously. “Don’t thank me yet.”