Premise: The title just means it was Written after watching this episode. This piece is actually a prequel. Wolf and Fox's first meeting.
Words: 1,893
Sick of his crew’s jabs, Wolf separated himself from the group of them and made his way around the bar. He would show them that he wasn’t incapable of picking up a woman, and he’d eyed the one that interested him: a tall, obviously natural redhead, her thick hair pulled back into a braid spilling out from under a bright red bandanna. The red should have clashed with the orange, but the tight red tank top under her black leather jacket pulled it together. But what had stood out the most to him was the large blue facial tattoo she had. It was centered over her right eye and looked like a blocky wolf head.. What Wolf wouldn’t be interested in that?
As Wolf came around the bar and reached her, he elbowed his way between the stools next to her, faced his body away from the bar, and leaned back against it so he was facing her directly, elbows propped on the table. Her eyes slid to him before her head turned. In this light, he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but they had a piercing quality, especially when they glared.
“Can I help you?” She had a low voice, for a woman. He liked that.
With a grin, he said, “I figured I should introduce myself, since it seems we’re both here often. I’m Wolf.” He accompanied that last sentence by jabbing a thumb back at himself, then lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.
The woman tilted her head to the side, assessing. It wasn’t so much that her expression softened, but it had become less hostile. “Fox.” She replied. “Which one of these crews are you here with then?”
Wolf twisted his body to point across the bar at his mates. They didn’t really stand out or anything. Just a group of men in biker leather, several with bandanas and a couple with cowboy hats. Fox looked and appeared distinctly unimpressed, her expression closing off. She was about to dismiss him.
It was time for a change in topic. “Nice ink.” He said, jerking his head to indicate the dog shape over her eye. Probably a fox it would seem. “That’s a ballsy spot to pick” he started, lifting his hand to touch his knuckle to the tattoo. The woman’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist with a whip-like force. The skin she grabbed stung for a moment, but he tensed his muscles to show her that she wasn’t stronger than him. He’d stopped moving his arm, but he didn’t let her push it back. It remained raised between them.
“Don't. Touch me.” The words were calm, but low and deadly, a distinct huskiness to her voice. He’d picked the right woman. If he was going to have to pick a lady, he’d done right. If she’d been a man, perhaps she could have been a match for him, but she wasn’t. He would show her that he was man enough for the both of them.
“Oh don’t be like that sweetheart.” He said, closing the space between them. She watched him like a snake. “I can make it real good for you” he grumbled, leaning in to her face and licking that inked spot.
What happened next occurred so quickly, he didn’t even have time to react. He wasn’t sure what exactly she managed to do, but he was pretty sure she used his own arm, still tensed to show her his strength, to launch herself up onto the bar and swing around behind him. Then an arm was around his neck. Pressure collapsed the air from his windpipe as it got crushed. Had she managed, that quickly, to get him into a rear naked choke? He just barely managed the thought before he felt his blood rush.
And he was on the ground. His head hurt, and his arms were twisted behind his back. He groaned and tried to readjust his arms as it was hurting his shoulders, but something was holding them in place. His eyes snapped open just in time to see tall shiny books step into his field of vision. The woman, Fox, crouched down in front of him, her heels coming off the floor and resting easily on the balls of her feet. The tip of a large knife touched down in the wood paneled floor and began to slowly turn. He raised his eyes to meet hers. They had a calm fury to them. He looked around. They were still in the bar, but no music was playing anymore, and it was empty.
Passing out from a choke hold like that shouldn’t render someone unconscious very long. How had she cleared out the bar like that.
“You know, I don’t have a problem with crime. Or criminals.” She grinned, though it was more of a barring of teeth. She very much resembled her namesake in this moment. Except, too calm. “But there are,” She pressed down on the turning blade, causing a curl of laminate to creep up like the shavings of a pencil. “certain behaviors, and acts, that I do have a problem with.” The blade stopped turning, and Wolf raised his eyes to hers. He wouldn’t say he was scared. She was impressive. Quick and fierce, but- the blade was suddenly at his neck. She pressed, and he felt the impulse to raise his chin, but that’s what she wanted. He wasn’t going to give in to such a petty stroke.
The knife cut in, drew blood. He could feel it slowly pressing into the flesh under his chin. He tried to stare her down for a moment, but her eyes showed nothing. She didn’t care. They were unflinching and unimpressed. She would keep this up, slowly, until the blade reached through his jaw to his tongue if he didn’t give in.
He snapped his head up, eyes now raised to the ceiling. “The men around here don’t assault and get away with it. Did you really think you were going to walk me out of here without an issue?”
Wolf scoffed, feeling that blade as his throat moved. “I had no interest in leaving here with you.” He growled.
“And you really expect me to believe that?” There was a hint of amusement to her voice now, but it didn’t suggest that she thought it was funny.
“You’re not actually my type lady. But some crews can’t seem to get around the idea of that.”
The blade eased up, and he felt blood trickle down his throat. Her expression had turned assessing. “So you were what? Putting on a show?” She had drawn her arm back and was now flipping the knife in her hand, repeatedly catching it easily by the hilt after each toss. He almost wanted to roll his eyes at the showing off.
“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He replied with a shrug.
“You’re a homosexual.” It was a statement, but there was a slight lift of her eyebrow, as if she didn’t think he would actually admit it. It was a challenge almost. In her mind, he was either planning to force himself on her, or he was putting on a show to stay hidden in the closet. He didn’t really care for either assessment. Just because he’d hit on her didn’t mean he would have assaulted her even if he was interested. And it wasn’t about being in the closet. It was showing that he could manage just as well, if not better, than any other man regardless of his preferences. It was irrelevant that his crew didn’t know those preferences of course or that he suspected it would cause him more trouble than it was worth.
“Can’t say I’m a huge fan of that term, but it’s less wrong than you’d thought.” His eyes followed Fox’s face as she stood up. Without a word, she walked away from him.
Wolf was able to assess his situation of confinement and saw his hands were just tied behind his back around the base of one of the stools of the bar. It was awkward and wrenched his shoulder enough to hurt, but he made no sound of discomfort as he managed to stand and get his bound hands unlooped from the stool.
Once free of the stool, he scanned the bar for Fox. She was behind the bar and pouring out two shots. When she looked up and saw him, she put her knife on the bar top and slid it across it, hilt facing him. He took the few steps it took to be across the bar from her. He stared for a long moment at the blade. It was going to be awkward to grab it and cut himself free given the tied nature of his wrists, but it seems this was the only help Fox was going to give him in getting free of them.
She set a shot glass down in front of him and tipped her head back with the other. After he got himself free and put the knife back on the bar, he took the shot she’d put in front of him. After the burning liquid went down, she asked him, “Why are you hanging with a crew like that?” Her tone was derisive.
Wolf scoffed and sat on one of the stools. His body ached, and his head was hurting a bit. “What, you’d rather I ride with some sort of wussy group?”
Fox leaned on the table and put her chin on top of her heads. “Do you really think you are the only guy of your persuasion to be like you? You must be awfully special.”
The mocking in her tone left him sneering. “Like you know of many like me.” He jeered.
“Oh I do.” She stood back up fully and grabbed their shot glasses which disappeared under the bar. “But I can tell you, they put up with the kind of behavior your tried tonight as well as I do. In fact, plenty of them would have made you disappear for that trick, no matter your tragic backstory.”
“It’s not tragic!” He growled, his hand slapping down on the table. “You totally overreacted.”
She laughed then. She had a good, husky laugh. He hated to admit it to himself, but he liked her. He liked that she hadn’t taken any shit. He felt almost ashamed to realize his response came from knowing that’s what his guys would have said. He ground his teeth until they ached to keep from feeling any further embarrassment.
“There could be a place for in a crew you actually belonged in… Wolf? Was it? But not if you keep that up. Believe me, it would be worth your while. Haven’t you wondered yet how this place emptied out so fast?”
Wolf harrumphed but nodded. “One of the first things I noticed.”
“I have influence Wolf. The people who matter, listen to me. Brute strength isn’t everything. Trust me, there are crews far worth being in than the pathetic circle you ride in.” She turned and headed toward a back doorway. Wolf saw the bar keep waiting for her there. Had he watched the whole thing? “Think about it.” She called after herself, leaving him alone in an empty bar as the lights turned off.
Premise: Derek considers Elisa's gift of the recording of Fox announcing Xanatos's plot to her.
Words: 884
Derek watched his sister walk away without looking back. The strange creatures watched him for a moment with the recorder still held aloft in his palm, before turning to walk with Elisa. One of the big ones, but not the one he knew to be Goliath, did look back over his shoulder at him, a strangely sad expression on his face, before disappearing into the trees.
Small points of cold blossomed on his head, his shoulder, his cheek as he stood watching. He hadn’t known what to make of Xanatos’s tale when he told him, thought perhaps it was still some sort of trick of technology when he showed me a video. But there they had been in person, huge and alien yet strangely so much more human than he would have thought.
How could he have believed in them? Sure it would have required he think hs new boss insane, but so often it kind of seemed like they were. And why go out of his way to convince him so much as to manufacturer the video? But mostly, because Xanatos had told him Elisa was their friend and had been for months. Months. And not told him? Derek always knew there were parts of his older sister’s life that he wouldn’t be privy to, but it hurt to actually know how far that could go. She’d been after Xanatos for weeks, asking for his help, and she couldn’t even be honest with why. She probably believed keeping him ignorant protected him. The sneer pulled his lip back before he realized what he was doing.
The physical movement broke a sort of spell. He felt his hand cold and wet around the plastic. He quickly slipped the recorder into his pocket to protect it from the falling snow. The snow that had started just before this place cleared out. He looked up at the lantern above him, then over at the house Xanatos would have returned to. That man knew how to give someone space. If he had been afraid of what Elisa or the others might have said to him, then the man would have stayed, wouldn’t he?
He rubbed one ear with his free hand. It was getting cold. He couldn’t stand out there doing nothing forever. He made light of his transition from cop to personal pilot, but it was anything but. His whole life had changed. He had a new schedule with travel built in and already more in his bank account than he’d ever had before. He hadn’t used it for anything but all of his regular expenses so far. He wasn’t even looking for a new apartment yet, like this wouldn’t really last.
And it was Elisa and his father that made him feel like that, like there was no path for him but the one they had laid out for him. Well screw that. They might like what they did, but it hadn’t been for him. Not for a long time. Not ever really. He’d just walked the path they’d set him on.
Derek headed for the house. Owen had already shown Derek his rooms for the nice. A guest room nearly the size of his apartment. He didn’t even have to face Xanatos again tonight if he didn’t want to. In fact, the man was a busy one who probably wouldn’t be looking to see him again this night. Derek had done his job and wouldn’t be needed again at least until tomorrow.
As he walked, Derek felt the weight in his pocket and was reminded of the recorder Elisa had given him. One thing he always could say about his sister was that she was good at what she did, and if she set out to find evidence of something, she usually did. And she usually also knew the worth of what she found, so whatever was on the tape, she believed it would mean something to him. Something that would paint Xanatos ugly. Did he really want to listen? To let her continue to usher him down a path of her making?
Derek stopped just outside the house, his feet on the concrete sidewalk. He could pull the tape out, crush it. Tear the tape. Get rid of it. He pulled the device back out of his pocket and considered it. His fingers clenched around it like maybe he’d just break the whole thing.
He let out a sharp breath, creating a small cloud of vapor inches from his face before it lifted in the air, dissipating. He ran his thumb over the buttons, feeling them depress ever so slightly one by one as his finger passed, never quite clicking any of them down.
He put it back in his pocket. He got a concession from Elisa tonight. She’d seen he had to go his own way. She wasn’t happy about it, but she’d accepted it. He would give that thought a night and consider in the morning. It was usually best to know what you can know, but Derek knew that the truth could be twisted, inverted, stretched in how it is presented. Who is presenting it. And for why.
Tomorrow, he would judge if it were was. The recording wasn’t going anywhere, and Derek wasn’t changing his mind about anything tonight.
Also, I'm not sure what the mutates situation is going to look like for my own personal universe of gargoyles. I'm still mulling it over. I was never very fond of them and really, for people who are me, takes the 'sci fi' elements of the show a bit beyond what 'work' for me. So like... we'll see. I'll probably cave for the sake of ease of future between episode writings, but I might possibly do something that works better for me with them. ¯_(ツ)_/¯
Who should I write for after the episode The Edge? What does anybody want to see? I've lost my spark but I'll be damned if I don't keep trying. Anyone got anything? Help? XD
