lil-rebbitzen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lil_rebbitzen) wrote2010-01-18 10:29 pm
lil_rebbitzen) wrote2010-01-18 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
redone Wanted prompt
*sigh* apparently I cut out just enough of Wanted that it didn't make much sense, so here's what i have written...
Notes: Sometime close in the future, the world has started to fall apart. A mysterious group of bounty hunters has emerged in the chaos to clean up the mess, but will their own pasts catch up with them? .
It was a cool, crisp September eve when the couple entered the bar, fingers intertwined. Years ago, they would have been very noticeable, but nowadays they looked just like everyone else in this dark drinking hole, cigarette smoke filling the air and fracturing the neon light from the jukebox so it seemed hazy. The only one who noticed their entrance was the barkeep, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp wrinkles across his brow, and he waved his hand to them while mixing something in the tumbler he held. One of the two, the male, nodded back, and his partner, a female, smiled at him. “May we please have our usual?” She asked over the loud, angry rock music playing, and the barkeep agreed, calling to his apprentice to cut up more garnish, the couple sitting down at a table. They could have been any age, their 30’s, 50’s…maybe even their 20’s. No one would have put them in their mid-40s in their present condition. The man wore a dark trench the color of oak, stained with dirt and grime, over matching black shirt and jeans and brown leather hiking boots. There was a nasty scar that had almost blinded him in his right eye, pale against light olive flesh; his jet eyes were narrow and sharp angled, like the rest of his face. His appearance was a bit past its prime, and had he been cleaned up, not traveling so much, and better dressed, he would have been very attractive, even with the brown double widow’s peak, pulled back into a long ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. Right now, though, he was more tired looking than anything. His right hand- on it, his wedding ring, gold engraved with Hebrew letters- held his wife’s left, which held their original wedding ring, before they had renewed their vows. Her long sable, wavy hair was loose, curly tendrils falling into her violet eyes. Like her husband, she was sullied from traveling, a loose black coat hanging on the back of her chair, her crimson corset top covering a fresh bandage, and a large chest. Her long legs were crossed at the knee, a black skirt covering them, one of her ebony boots on the floor as her husband massaged her sore calf muscles.
They did not seem a likely couple, him giving off a cool, collected aura, while she seemed much more energetic and warm. In fact, they had grown up seeming complete opposites; even their countenances were completely different. He had always been very reserved, not letting many get to know him, trying to not show emotion, except for when his temper got the better of him, which was -or used to be- often, and he was quite rough at times. She, on the other hand, seemed like she might like having more friends, liked to show a bit of emotion -though not letting it rule her-, and was very soft seeming, generally quite full of life, and love.
Perhaps it was the difference of that that had kept them together for so long. He was ready to give his life to protect her, she returned the favor. He kept things afloat with their work matters, she was ready to show him more love whenever he needed it, and to support him through everything. Their love for each other was strong, and their fidelity had never been tempted. 40 years of being together (as friends, about 30 of those being married) had given them an odd ability to sense each other’s thoughts and feelings, to the point where they could almost touch it. Right now, though they hid it from the other bar patrons, they could sense in each other an uneasiness about the latest mission.
A young barmaid named Julia came up and served them their drinks, bowing slightly. The woman thanked her, bringing the drink to her ruby lips as she and her husband carefully listened in on a conversation behind them. She asked her husband for something, and he pulled out her compact from a leather pouch around his waist. Pretending to check her face, she carefully angled it to look at the group behind them. “Definitely him,” she whispered.
“Richard Smith. One of the more sought after men in these parts. Age: 28, goes by Ricardo Martinez, John Schumacher…a whole slew of others. Heck, who knows if Richard Smith is his real name?…only known family is in the States.” The red head said, sitting at her large computer terminal, her friends looking at it intently. Her lavender haired husband came in, offering some tea to the trio. “Notice anything odd about him?”
The brown haired man chuckled, sipping at his tea, “Besides that he has a longer list of felonies than I, at such a young age no less, and if his Schumacher alias has a brother named Joel, I want to kill him. Beyond that, no, not really.”
His wife groaned, flicking her husband’s ear in annoyance. He just smiled at her, which annoyed her even more. She was a beautiful woman, her eyes soft and gentle like the rest of her face, which was framed by black tendrils of hair, her body lithe and well-taken care of: not precisely thin, she had too much muscle for that, but with just enough curve on her medium frame to fill out her clothes nicely, and to not look like a chopstick. Had there not been so many scars on her body, and the slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth from laughing so much in her married life not been there, she might have been even more so to a normal passerby. Not that her husband cared what another man thought, so long as the man wasn’t trying to get fresh with her, for he had always believed her to be the most beautiful woman, in both soul and body, he had ever known. He thought her even more adorable when she was twerked off, which of course exacerbated it.
The red head frowned, “I checked around, and rumour has it he’s one of those in the neo-Rockets.”
Her black haired friend grimaced at the name, “So he’s been causing trouble, hasn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“I wonder if their leader thought things would end up like this when he dissolved the original Team Rocket.” The ebon haired woman said, throwing a glance at her husband.
The brown haired man’s eyes flashed, before he shrugged, “Who can predict things such as this?”
His wife smirked, “Indeed. Where has this Richard last been seen?”
The red head pulled up a satellite map of the area around Vermillion, now a ruined shadow of its former glory. “Our sources say he’s a frequent at The Smiling Wolf pub.”
A non-existent eyebrow was raised on the brunette man, “our normal haunt when we’re here?”
The red head shrugged, “Appears to be the case, sir.”
He nodded, “well, looks like that will be our next target. What’s the reward on this one?” She hit a button, and a large number popped up on the screen. He grinned, “That’s more than enough to keep us and this bucket of bolts running comfortably for a month or two. Might as well see if we can get some information before someone else beats us to it. Come on, honey.” He took his wife’s hand in his, and they walked off together to get ready.
The red head’s husband sighed, running a hand through his lavender hair as he put the other on his wife‘s shoulder, “Who names a pub ‘The Smiling Wolf’?”
“A smart ass who thought he was being clever,” his wife muttered, “I can’t believe we’re running into more of these idiots. What part of Giovanni saying, ‘It’s over, Team Rocket’s finished’ did they not get? Get on with your lives, people!”
“Well, we almost didn’t, until we got let on here,” He reminded her, kissing her forehead.
“That’s true…” She held his hand, “I hope they don’t get hurt out there.” It was an odd thought. Before they would have hoped that they wouldn’t get killed on account that the two of them would be out of a job…these past 3...no, 4 years had changed that. Now it was because of an odd sort of camaraderie that had developed among the four of them and the rest of their little team.
“Let’s just watch, and see what happens,” the ebony haired woman’s husband said, taking a sip of his own drink, when his cell phone went off. With a frustrated sigh, he answered it, “Hello? Oh, hey. Kind of busy, do you need something, kid?… Oh, well, let me see how some things shape up, and I’ll let you know. Thank you, though. Alright, say hi to the little one and Mist for me.” He flipped it closed. In response to his wife’s raised eyebrow, “Ash wanting to see if the team would like to get together for dinner next week.”
His wife smiled, “ah. He didn’t freak out when you called him ‘kid’?”
“Oh he did, I just ignored him.” He chuckled, when he spotted Richard starting to leave in the mirror, “Preda è in movimento.” Simply put, ‘The prey is on the move.’ She nodded, and they waited until he had left before quickly placing their payment on the table and stalking after him.
Picking up the pace once he left the bar, the man called ‘Richard Smith’ started looking for somewhere to hide out. He had the feeling that he had been watched at the establishment, and, given that he was a wanted man, he wished to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible. He didn’t know who was coming after him today, but had the possibility that they had been just regular bounty hunters existed, he wouldn’t have been near as nervous. No, what caused such anxiety was the fact that a new species of bounty hunter had arisen, if they could be called such.
In his native German, they would be known as “Engel des Todes”. Around here, they were simply known as shi no tenshi…“Death Angels”. Instead of just taking the person in to the police, and collecting the reward, they killed the person, and got a substantially higher one, normally from a private sponsor who wanted that particular criminal taken out because of a slight against him; perceived or real, it didn’t matter, just so long as the sponsor coughed up the money. Then there were the ones who caused massacres, for the fun of it. Same group as the first, but it seemed to be a small collective of hardened criminals who enjoyed nothing more than spilling blood of innocents and guilty alike. Many of another Team had gone there, a Team that had plagued the old Rockets for years before supposedly being taken out by his old boss. That had started the decline of Team Rocket. Officially, the departments were slowly cut off for lack of money. Unofficially… The man looked up and scowled. He had been musing too much, and had walked into a dead end. Well, maybe they’re behind me enough that…He turned around to see a man and woman enter the alleyway. Damn. Well, so much for getting out quietly.
“Richard Smith, I presume?” The man asked coolly, and his target could have sworn he recognized him.
“Who’s askin’?” Richard replied, reaching towards his belt where his gun was holstered. A shot rang out, and he flinched his hand out of the way just in time to see a bullet, crumpled from hitting the brick wall he was almost backed into, roll next to his dirty white sneaker.
He looked up to see the woman, holding a handgun, smoke still coming through the barrel, sigh. “We’ll be asking the questions around here, if you don’t mind. No funny business. Just disarm yourself, kick the gun over here, and no harm will come to you.”
“You know we lose some of the reward if he’s hurt,” Her husband hissed quietly. That voice sounded eerily familiar as well.
“Rather him hurt than us.” She growled back, keeping her eyes on Richard.
“Why should I believe you?” He knew this man from somewhere…perhaps he could use the information against him, if he stalled long enough to remember.
“We are but simple bounty hunters, not Angeli della Morte,” The man said, and Richard couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow. Who used Italian around these parts anymore? “We just want the money, not your head. Just come quietly, and my love here won’t have to blow your hand off. Or other things.”
“What, too afraid to do it yourself, old man, making the trophy do it?” Richard chuckled. The man’s eyes flashed, and, before the target could react, kicked a red and white ball against the wall. It opened with a bright burst of light, and a Cloyster popped out, grinning menacingly, as it was wont to do, and it fired an Ice beam at him. He barely dodged it, and frowned. So much for not wanting to kill him!
"I suggest you not speak of my wife that way again, Mr. Smith." The man intoned, "Unless you would like to be frozen when we take you in."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*sigh* and that's all I've got for know, sorry for it cutting off like that. I promise to continue working on it...
Hope this version makes more sense...You know, for a preview...
In other news, I did my alloted 30 minutes of WiiFit today. Let's hope I can keep this up...
Dammit, my stomach is sore from one of the yoga poses... >_<
And I also have bloodwork in the morning... *gets in hot chocolate and some sweets before midnight*
Notes: Sometime close in the future, the world has started to fall apart. A mysterious group of bounty hunters has emerged in the chaos to clean up the mess, but will their own pasts catch up with them? .
It was a cool, crisp September eve when the couple entered the bar, fingers intertwined. Years ago, they would have been very noticeable, but nowadays they looked just like everyone else in this dark drinking hole, cigarette smoke filling the air and fracturing the neon light from the jukebox so it seemed hazy. The only one who noticed their entrance was the barkeep, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp wrinkles across his brow, and he waved his hand to them while mixing something in the tumbler he held. One of the two, the male, nodded back, and his partner, a female, smiled at him. “May we please have our usual?” She asked over the loud, angry rock music playing, and the barkeep agreed, calling to his apprentice to cut up more garnish, the couple sitting down at a table. They could have been any age, their 30’s, 50’s…maybe even their 20’s. No one would have put them in their mid-40s in their present condition. The man wore a dark trench the color of oak, stained with dirt and grime, over matching black shirt and jeans and brown leather hiking boots. There was a nasty scar that had almost blinded him in his right eye, pale against light olive flesh; his jet eyes were narrow and sharp angled, like the rest of his face. His appearance was a bit past its prime, and had he been cleaned up, not traveling so much, and better dressed, he would have been very attractive, even with the brown double widow’s peak, pulled back into a long ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. Right now, though, he was more tired looking than anything. His right hand- on it, his wedding ring, gold engraved with Hebrew letters- held his wife’s left, which held their original wedding ring, before they had renewed their vows. Her long sable, wavy hair was loose, curly tendrils falling into her violet eyes. Like her husband, she was sullied from traveling, a loose black coat hanging on the back of her chair, her crimson corset top covering a fresh bandage, and a large chest. Her long legs were crossed at the knee, a black skirt covering them, one of her ebony boots on the floor as her husband massaged her sore calf muscles.
They did not seem a likely couple, him giving off a cool, collected aura, while she seemed much more energetic and warm. In fact, they had grown up seeming complete opposites; even their countenances were completely different. He had always been very reserved, not letting many get to know him, trying to not show emotion, except for when his temper got the better of him, which was -or used to be- often, and he was quite rough at times. She, on the other hand, seemed like she might like having more friends, liked to show a bit of emotion -though not letting it rule her-, and was very soft seeming, generally quite full of life, and love.
Perhaps it was the difference of that that had kept them together for so long. He was ready to give his life to protect her, she returned the favor. He kept things afloat with their work matters, she was ready to show him more love whenever he needed it, and to support him through everything. Their love for each other was strong, and their fidelity had never been tempted. 40 years of being together (as friends, about 30 of those being married) had given them an odd ability to sense each other’s thoughts and feelings, to the point where they could almost touch it. Right now, though they hid it from the other bar patrons, they could sense in each other an uneasiness about the latest mission.
A young barmaid named Julia came up and served them their drinks, bowing slightly. The woman thanked her, bringing the drink to her ruby lips as she and her husband carefully listened in on a conversation behind them. She asked her husband for something, and he pulled out her compact from a leather pouch around his waist. Pretending to check her face, she carefully angled it to look at the group behind them. “Definitely him,” she whispered.
“Richard Smith. One of the more sought after men in these parts. Age: 28, goes by Ricardo Martinez, John Schumacher…a whole slew of others. Heck, who knows if Richard Smith is his real name?…only known family is in the States.” The red head said, sitting at her large computer terminal, her friends looking at it intently. Her lavender haired husband came in, offering some tea to the trio. “Notice anything odd about him?”
The brown haired man chuckled, sipping at his tea, “Besides that he has a longer list of felonies than I, at such a young age no less, and if his Schumacher alias has a brother named Joel, I want to kill him. Beyond that, no, not really.”
His wife groaned, flicking her husband’s ear in annoyance. He just smiled at her, which annoyed her even more. She was a beautiful woman, her eyes soft and gentle like the rest of her face, which was framed by black tendrils of hair, her body lithe and well-taken care of: not precisely thin, she had too much muscle for that, but with just enough curve on her medium frame to fill out her clothes nicely, and to not look like a chopstick. Had there not been so many scars on her body, and the slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth from laughing so much in her married life not been there, she might have been even more so to a normal passerby. Not that her husband cared what another man thought, so long as the man wasn’t trying to get fresh with her, for he had always believed her to be the most beautiful woman, in both soul and body, he had ever known. He thought her even more adorable when she was twerked off, which of course exacerbated it.
The red head frowned, “I checked around, and rumour has it he’s one of those in the neo-Rockets.”
Her black haired friend grimaced at the name, “So he’s been causing trouble, hasn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“I wonder if their leader thought things would end up like this when he dissolved the original Team Rocket.” The ebon haired woman said, throwing a glance at her husband.
The brown haired man’s eyes flashed, before he shrugged, “Who can predict things such as this?”
His wife smirked, “Indeed. Where has this Richard last been seen?”
The red head pulled up a satellite map of the area around Vermillion, now a ruined shadow of its former glory. “Our sources say he’s a frequent at The Smiling Wolf pub.”
A non-existent eyebrow was raised on the brunette man, “our normal haunt when we’re here?”
The red head shrugged, “Appears to be the case, sir.”
He nodded, “well, looks like that will be our next target. What’s the reward on this one?” She hit a button, and a large number popped up on the screen. He grinned, “That’s more than enough to keep us and this bucket of bolts running comfortably for a month or two. Might as well see if we can get some information before someone else beats us to it. Come on, honey.” He took his wife’s hand in his, and they walked off together to get ready.
The red head’s husband sighed, running a hand through his lavender hair as he put the other on his wife‘s shoulder, “Who names a pub ‘The Smiling Wolf’?”
“A smart ass who thought he was being clever,” his wife muttered, “I can’t believe we’re running into more of these idiots. What part of Giovanni saying, ‘It’s over, Team Rocket’s finished’ did they not get? Get on with your lives, people!”
“Well, we almost didn’t, until we got let on here,” He reminded her, kissing her forehead.
“That’s true…” She held his hand, “I hope they don’t get hurt out there.” It was an odd thought. Before they would have hoped that they wouldn’t get killed on account that the two of them would be out of a job…these past 3...no, 4 years had changed that. Now it was because of an odd sort of camaraderie that had developed among the four of them and the rest of their little team.
“Let’s just watch, and see what happens,” the ebony haired woman’s husband said, taking a sip of his own drink, when his cell phone went off. With a frustrated sigh, he answered it, “Hello? Oh, hey. Kind of busy, do you need something, kid?… Oh, well, let me see how some things shape up, and I’ll let you know. Thank you, though. Alright, say hi to the little one and Mist for me.” He flipped it closed. In response to his wife’s raised eyebrow, “Ash wanting to see if the team would like to get together for dinner next week.”
His wife smiled, “ah. He didn’t freak out when you called him ‘kid’?”
“Oh he did, I just ignored him.” He chuckled, when he spotted Richard starting to leave in the mirror, “Preda è in movimento.” Simply put, ‘The prey is on the move.’ She nodded, and they waited until he had left before quickly placing their payment on the table and stalking after him.
Picking up the pace once he left the bar, the man called ‘Richard Smith’ started looking for somewhere to hide out. He had the feeling that he had been watched at the establishment, and, given that he was a wanted man, he wished to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible. He didn’t know who was coming after him today, but had the possibility that they had been just regular bounty hunters existed, he wouldn’t have been near as nervous. No, what caused such anxiety was the fact that a new species of bounty hunter had arisen, if they could be called such.
In his native German, they would be known as “Engel des Todes”. Around here, they were simply known as shi no tenshi…“Death Angels”. Instead of just taking the person in to the police, and collecting the reward, they killed the person, and got a substantially higher one, normally from a private sponsor who wanted that particular criminal taken out because of a slight against him; perceived or real, it didn’t matter, just so long as the sponsor coughed up the money. Then there were the ones who caused massacres, for the fun of it. Same group as the first, but it seemed to be a small collective of hardened criminals who enjoyed nothing more than spilling blood of innocents and guilty alike. Many of another Team had gone there, a Team that had plagued the old Rockets for years before supposedly being taken out by his old boss. That had started the decline of Team Rocket. Officially, the departments were slowly cut off for lack of money. Unofficially… The man looked up and scowled. He had been musing too much, and had walked into a dead end. Well, maybe they’re behind me enough that…He turned around to see a man and woman enter the alleyway. Damn. Well, so much for getting out quietly.
“Richard Smith, I presume?” The man asked coolly, and his target could have sworn he recognized him.
“Who’s askin’?” Richard replied, reaching towards his belt where his gun was holstered. A shot rang out, and he flinched his hand out of the way just in time to see a bullet, crumpled from hitting the brick wall he was almost backed into, roll next to his dirty white sneaker.
He looked up to see the woman, holding a handgun, smoke still coming through the barrel, sigh. “We’ll be asking the questions around here, if you don’t mind. No funny business. Just disarm yourself, kick the gun over here, and no harm will come to you.”
“You know we lose some of the reward if he’s hurt,” Her husband hissed quietly. That voice sounded eerily familiar as well.
“Rather him hurt than us.” She growled back, keeping her eyes on Richard.
“Why should I believe you?” He knew this man from somewhere…perhaps he could use the information against him, if he stalled long enough to remember.
“We are but simple bounty hunters, not Angeli della Morte,” The man said, and Richard couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow. Who used Italian around these parts anymore? “We just want the money, not your head. Just come quietly, and my love here won’t have to blow your hand off. Or other things.”
“What, too afraid to do it yourself, old man, making the trophy do it?” Richard chuckled. The man’s eyes flashed, and, before the target could react, kicked a red and white ball against the wall. It opened with a bright burst of light, and a Cloyster popped out, grinning menacingly, as it was wont to do, and it fired an Ice beam at him. He barely dodged it, and frowned. So much for not wanting to kill him!
"I suggest you not speak of my wife that way again, Mr. Smith." The man intoned, "Unless you would like to be frozen when we take you in."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*sigh* and that's all I've got for know, sorry for it cutting off like that. I promise to continue working on it...
Hope this version makes more sense...You know, for a preview...
In other news, I did my alloted 30 minutes of WiiFit today. Let's hope I can keep this up...
Dammit, my stomach is sore from one of the yoga poses... >_<
And I also have bloodwork in the morning... *gets in hot chocolate and some sweets before midnight*