||[Sep. 28th, 2011|01:41 am]
Since I haven't used this journal at all in years, yet it still manages to take up space in some server somewhere, I figured I'd use it to post little writing challenges I force out of people that talk to me. Here's the first one. It's terrible.
Disclaimer: Wolverine is copyright Marvel, or Disney, or both now. I do not profit from this work.
And The Banjos Sang That Night
"Stupid-" A sound like a buzz saw beating a sentient clock full of razors on a chalkboard screamed into the muted snow of the void inhabited by two specks of humanity. "-fucking-" another spark brightened stab through heavy copper, squealing its jagged pitch off of naked tree branches in the blinding winter scape. "-pain in the ass-" Claws lashed out at a copper throat with copper ruff all encompassing, all rending and parting like half frozen butter forced back and away from itself in agitated creaking groans, stabbing sharp hate through keen ears. "-WOLVES!" Wolverine stared at the mess he'd made. Calf deep in pristine snow surrounded by hunks of copper and glitter specks of...more copper. Copper paws, copper snouts, copper wolf bodies all stabbed and torn and generally mussed up.
About a yard and a half behind the pissed off mutant, just off to the left, a huddled figure of a man sat on cabin steps dusted in snow. His knees came up to his chin, the right one exposed by a growing hole in his faded grey jeans, large dark eyes stared out at the scene just under a well-worn black beanie. "Dude," His voice barely carried and both men knew it didn't matter. Everyone knows Wolverine can hear a pin drop in the next state over while he's got someone blasting a flamethrower in his face. It's true. He heard it once. He could tell someone with arthritic hands had dropped it. "they're just statues." Oh, and Addison was talking. He does that a lot.
"Like hell." Huffed the berserker stump of a Canuk. "Those bastards have been waking me up every night for a goddamn week." He growled, head slowly turning right to left and back again as he surveyed the damage. "Every time they move it sounds like...screaming chickens."
"What?" The much leaner man's eyes went a bit wide as a grin pulled and curled the sides of his generous mouth.
"What?" The irate X-man huffed, idly scratching the side of his neck as he stomped down on the snow around him, turning to face Addison.
"Did you say 'screaming chickens'?" Addison asked, his voice slightly strained in an attempt not to giggle. Or squawk. As is his nature.
"Yeah, well, that's what they sound like, you got a problem with it?" A deep frown added a few more lines to an already well lined face, nearly making the shorter man's sharp eyes disappear.
"Ha HA!" The lanky Armenian shot off a laugh into the sky like a bird call before hugging his knobby knees and laughing his non-existent ass off. ‘Laughing’ should be interpreted in this case as a long series of gasping guffaws. Wolverine kept his frown firmly in place as he trudged back towards the cabin. "Quit yer noise makin', y'sound like a pug havin' 'n asthma attack." As soon as he reached the step Addison was having a fit on he reached down one hairy paw-hand and grabbed him by the ruff of his snow jacket, dragging him toward the door like a caveman with a new mate.
The laughing fit stopped instantly as the jacket rearranged itself to let some snow on skin action go down. The lanky twenty-something kicked and squirmed and squealed, desperately trying to stop the ice and frozen wood from baring its harsh nerve shrinking horror on his delicate back meats. "Noooo! Fuck it's cold! Stop! Stooop!" In a hopeless attempt to escape he lashed out at the walls that framed the front step, but they shunned his bare finger tips with the same cold bite and let him slip away and scrabble for the door frame as the dragging went steadily on.
Passed the doorway the torture ended with a hoist that dug the first button of Addison's coat right into his adam's apple. With a 'ulk' from the Armenian and a grunt from the grumpy old Canadian, the skinny twerp landed inside, right on his tailbone. "Y'think yer hurtin' now, buck-o." Wolverine rumbled, looming over the crumpled form of his only companion on a week-long unwanted hiatus. One claw extended well and slow enough from Wolverine's right hand. It was all the suddenly much smaller feeling other man needed to see to know that he was going to be the next 'screaming chicken'. So he'd better fucking enjoy it.