#and then they tore the building down to make a very generic like. strip mall type thing there :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trials-by-blood · 4 years

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Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

"You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

"I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

"N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

"UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

"I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

"Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

"Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

"The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

"W-hat was it? His name?"

"Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

"I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

"Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

"As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

#yautja #predator #human/predator #alien vs predator #ask

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shatteredskies042 · 5 years

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NaNo Day 23

Ally watched him carefully, a longing in her eyes and emotions Michael could not decipher as he got comfortable in the chair. “What’s wrong?” Michael asked, meeting her gaze and furrowing a brow in confusion.

“Nothing,” the blonde said quickly, tearing her eyes away and looking at the fire. “Nobody has sat in that chair for sixty years. Since I put these chairs in,” she told him, glancing back at the soldier with a gentle smile.

“It’s a comfortable seat,” Michael promised, taking the final sip from his lemonade mixture. “This library is huge,” he noted.

“It’s the third largest surviving supernatural library in the world,” Ally said proudly, watching him. “The next is under New York, the largest is a magical academy in France,” she explained as she looked at him. “Those have more modern texts and are constantly updated,” the angel added. “This library stopped being regularly restocked when the Huntsmen collapsed, and while I’ve got some newer books, the majority was written up to and before 1942.”

“What happened to them?” Michael asked, “and what exactly were the Huntsmen? You mentioned they were a peacekeeping force.”

“They kept the supernatural world hidden and enforced the laws. Huntsmen were feared for their abilities and respected for them. There were Institutes all over Europe and North America. They were incredibly skilled fighters, magic users, sometimes they operated in teams, but for the most part they worked alone. The War led them to their downfall,” Ally remembered sadly as she looked at the fire. “They were straining to keep everything hidden, and communications between the ones trapped on the European continent were cut off from those in Russia, Britain, and the U.S. only made matters worse. The breaking point, or what everyone calls it, was when the Berlin Institute was bombed. The leadership there believed it was the work of the other Institutes, as their importance really wasn’t known to the allies. They struck back at the London Institute, and the infighting tore them apart,” Ally shook her head sadly.

“How many total are there?” he asked, listening to the tragedy intently.

“Well, here,” she waved to the building around them. “Outside New York City, London, Paris, Berlin, one to the south of Moscow, and there’s one in Rome. Most of them are hotels now, still focused on the supernatural,” she stated. “There’s a bunch of crazy rumors about a few other Institutes, like one in the West or one up in Alaska.”

“How did they keep the peace?” Michael wondered next.

“But sort of doing what we just did,” Ally said, “responding to conflicts and mediating. If somebody had to be hunted down, send a Huntsman. They solved the supernatural world’s problems, until they fell apart.”

“But if, like you said, the European Institutes were at war with each other, what about the New York one? Or Goddess Island?”

“They saw and heard what happened, and realized just how corrupt and flawed their system was as the world came apart around them. While the European Huntsmen died with bangs, the American Huntsmen just sort of faded away. I cleaned my fair share of skeletons out of this place,” Ally told him. “For the most part, they faded into society, some of them did their jobs as Huntsmen until their deaths, but the prestige of the profession was tarnished.”

Michael nodded slowly in understanding as he looked at her, then looked at the flickering fire. He listened to it crackle softly, and looked at the window at the brightness outside. It had felt like an entire day had passed already, but the sunlight would linger for a few hours still. He still had the Talon drive to decrypt, and now the Ivory Tower were worth looking into as well. “I think I’m going to head into town for a little bit,” he told the blonde.

“Want to pick up dinner while you’re there?” The angel asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at the corner of pink lips.

“Just tell me where to go,” he offered with a smile.

“I’ll text you, you still have the phone I gave you?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” he said, “is it secure? I don’t trust phones,” Michael admitted.

“These are pulled carefully and overwritten for members of the supernatural community,” Ally promised. “Don’t ask me how to explain how it works, but they essentially operate on another network and are scrambled so they’re hard to intercept. Unless of course the baddies get ahold of your phone,” she noted.

“Unlikely,” Michael promised, then rose from his chair, “see you in a bit with dinner,” he promised as he headed for the door. Michael did not know it, but Ally craned her head to watch him go, before staring at the chair he had sat in with a gentle smile, before returning to reading the old book.

Michael headed for his car and headed into town, referencing his shopping list from earlier where he needed to get more clothes and mundane things like a toothbrush. He could order some things online, more tactically focused gear, or just have Allyson order it for him. He found his way to a grocery store in the midst of town, wandering inside and taking a look around. Michael decided to take his cart and walk the aisles, searching meticulously for both things he needed and wanted along the way.

Years of training with the best special operators in the world, and I’m putting some of that to use shopping, he smiled to himself and laughed. His cart grew as he wandered upon things to store in the kitchen of the Institute, things he could cook with. As a guilty pleasure, he bought large bags of candy peppermints and sugared candy orange slices, knowing a good snack now and then would be a benefit. He finally found the health and self-care aisles, and picked up many of the things he needed. A toothbrush and paste, as well as shampoo and soap, and he felt that he had picked up what he needed.

Michael survived through the checkout process and carried the bags out to his car and secured them in the trunk. Next, he headed for a strip mall he had spotted near Scarlet’s coffee place. There were a few small clothing stores and a thrift store, only a handful of the former seemed like they would have clothing for him. Clothes shopping had never been his strong suit, but he needed to find things to wear: Things functional enough to pack his carry gear and low profile kit, but inconspicuous enough to blend in. The Grey Man look, they had a wardrobe of inconspicuous clothing and accessories back at their base in Hereford and Germany when he had been with Task Force BLACK. They had used them during low profile surveillance operations, or covert missions in urban spaces.

Even though he wasn’t going to be kidnapping important targets, or smashing a cyberwarfare den, being able to become a grey man and disappearing was an important equipment option he wanted to have.

He only found a handful of things in both stores, neutrally colored and generic clothing, just enough to blend in. He had tried on the new clothing in a fitting room with his handgun and magazines strapped to his body and rejected anything that printed at any point during his quick testing.

After loading the bags into his car, he felt his phone buzz. He had not remembered actually getting Ally’s name or phone number from her, but both and a picture were already present on his phone. She had sent him a number of pictures, captures of a menu. He sat in the driver’s seat of his Camaro and went over the information for a Chinese place in town. It was a good choice, he thought, his mind instantly going back to stakeouts and surveillance missions with BLACK. They had to eat, and as a joke they would usually get takeout from a Chinese place. They were almost ubiquitous, and rarely posed a health threat to the team the same way Mexican food or a greasy burger would.

He responded with what he wanted, and the blonde promised she would let him know when it was ready.

Michael smiled a bit, then looked at the thrift store. He had to give it a try, he decided after a moment of thinking. Maybe he would find something good there, if not, it killed more time until their takeout was ready. The inside was well lit, and something caught his eye almost as soon as he found his way to the clothing section: a flat black leather jacket. Pulling it off the hangar, he tried it on and stretched, moving to see if the leather would make any noise. It failed to, and Michael noted that the measurements were very similar to the semi-covert tactical jackets he had been issued in BLACK. With some minor modifications, he could easily conceal a pair of magazines in the jacket itself, and have plenty of pockets and storage space for equipment. Instantly enamored by the garment, Michael took it off and headed for the checkout counter, paying for it without much bartering and returning to his silver car.

There was also the possibility of reinforcing it, he thought. Like the gear he had previously, a thin layer of Kevlar Diamond Weave could be added to the interior, giving some ballistic protection. Maybe Ally knew a vendor or someone trustworthy to do it. He could hardly wear a ballistic vest or plates around everywhere he went, and with the possibility of both Talon goons and Ivory Tower operators out there gunning for him, he needed all the protection he could get.

As the sun’s light faded from the sky, Michael drove around, familiarizing himself with the town and the territory. Once Ally told him their food was ready, he drove to the address provided and headed inside, waiting in a short line until he was directed to the pick up counter.

In and out was fairly quick, and he walked out with two bags of pungent Chinese food. He returned to the island, and found Allyson standing in the garage when he backed in. “Welcome back,” she greeted with a smile as he got out of the car.

“Hey,” he replied. “The food is in the passenger seat, I bought some stuff I have to bring in, too,” he admitted as he crossed over the trunk.

“Catch,” Ally bid as she tossed him a small black box. “Garage door opener,” she explained as she claimed the two bags of Chinese food. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and then come back and help you with the groceries,” she promised before disappearing into the Institute.

Michael leaned into the open passenger door and mounted the device Ally had given him to the visor on the driver’s side, then retreated to get the groceries from the trunk. It took the two of them a pair of trips each, and once they were done Michael stored the refrigerated goods before doing anything else. Once that was taken care of, he joined Ally at the table and took arrayed his meal around his eating space while the blonde chewed on a piece of pork.

“You bought clothes too?” she asked, looking up at him while he opened the white containers and looked at his meal. He speared a piece of orange chicken with his fork and took a bite before he responded.

“Most of the clothes I got from my storage unit were a bit small,” he told her. “They still fit me, of course, but I can’t easily conceal a weapon while wearing them.”

Ally nodded affirmatively, “I see,” a smile curled at her sauce stained lips before she ran over them with a napkin. “You’re not going to be bringing diva levels of clothing with you on our missions, right?” she teased.

“Only diva levels of equipment,” he promised with a returned smile. They ate in a comfortable silence, and afterwards Michael thanked the blonde for dinner.

“Don’t worry,” she responded with a sly smile, “pay me back by cooking breakfast in the morning,” the told him.

Word Count: 45626

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