Drabble: No Holds Barred Beatdown
Who: Jack, Pyro, and Betsy
When: Backdated to the sick plot
Rating: PG-13 for grumpy hunter violence
For: Here you go K! Sorry it took so long!
Jack was practically in Heaven. The mutants were sick while the humans stayed fine. If he had been one of those religious wingnuts who were always spouting off how mutants were spawn of the Devil, he’d have said it was a sign from God that they were unnatural and this was their punishment. Being a much more practical man, he was just extremely pleased to know that most of the team was shit out of luck when it came to staying healthy. The quarantine imposed on the buildings meant nothing to him. He could go wherever he pleased and not have to worry about a damn thing.
John felt he was in Hell. It was much colder than he had thought it would be. He’d barely paid attention when one of the usual army flunkies came around and told him that he was to stay in his room while whatever it was that was that had made its way through the entire team continued to be contagious. He would have told the guy off with a smart remark, but feeling a sudden wave of cold, he merely groaned, rolled over in bed, and pulled the blanket over his head. Feeling desperately thirsty, he reached for the glass by his bedside, only to find it empty. Paging a nurse brought no results. Typical.
They very nearly collided into one another in the hallway. John took a step back and automatically reached for his lighter, but the familiar sensation of feeling the flame like an old friend at the back of his mind wasn’t there. Shit. Face to face with an ancient mutant hunter and no powers. It looked like the universe had decided to once again use him as a punching bag. As usual, when all else failed, John resorted to using his mouth. “Mind moving outta the way, old man?” Of course, that didn’t mean his mouth was going to get him out of trouble.
“Now what are you doing out of bed.” It wasn’t a question. The hunter looked positively delighted at this turn of events. He smiled. As any ichthyologist could point out, sharks also smiled right before they attacked weakened prey.
The reply ‘Hoping not to run into you’ seemed like it was just asking for trouble, so John did what he thought was best and stayed silent. This only gave Jack the opportunity to continue on, good eye glinting with a spark that didn’t come from the overhead lights. “What’s the matter, mutie? Not so tough without your powers.”
In hindsight, John would later reflect he shouldn’t have let the words rile him up so much. They were nothing special, just another insult in the long line of them Jack had often heaped upon him. Perhaps due to his illness, his inhibitions were lower. Whatever it was, they got the desired effect. “Shut up.”
“Why? What’re you gonna do about it?” Jack sneered, folding his arms in a challenging manner. “Talk me to death?”
Angrily, John tried to shove his way past. It was the opening Jack needed. A fist that felt like it was made of iron hit the firestarter on the jaw, clipping him so hard his teeth clacked together. Dazed, Pyro instinctively backed away until he felt his shoulders bump the wall. Glaring at Jack, his temper grew. He wanted a fight, fine, he was going to get one.
The “fight” soon became a one-sided beatdown. John’s anger fizzled out as the pain radiated through his body from the punches. For an old man, Jack hit as good as any pro boxer. Once there was the telltale Snap! that came from his chest as a rib was broken, the mutant went completely limp, held up only by Jack holding onto the front of his shirt.
“You talk so much shit--” Jack took great pleasure in using his left hand to deliver a merciless blow to Pyro’s face. The skin still bore the scars left over from Russia when Pyro had lit it on fire. Blood from the kid’s split lip now dotted the old twisted burn marks. “-and have your powers when you’re--” It was then that John lost the energy to even cry out as the punches continued to rain down on him. His internal energies began to be primarily concerned with keeping him conscious. An alarming thought ran through his head as he realized that Jack might kill him. It was enough for his hands to come up and feebly struggle against the mutant hunter. “--just another punk kid with his mouth overloadin’ his ass.” Dropping him on the ground into an undignified heap, Jack stood over him, savoring the injuries he had just inflicted.
Pyro had hoped he was beyond feeling any more pain. But the toe of Jack’s boot connecting squarely with his eye told him otherwise. A shrill scream of pain, the sound higher than John had previously thought he was possible of making, tore its way out of the bloodied mouth. If he could have spoken, he would have been begging Jack to just kill him and get it over with. The words got lost on the way, resulting only in a pathetic wheezing noise punctuated by coughs and sniffles.
The feeling of a shoe heel grinding into the side of his head made John’s eyes widen in fear. “You’re a gutless, pathetic little worm.” This was the end. The crazy old man was finally going to murder him in cold blood. A woozy feeling descended over John and black began to creep in at the edges of his vision. At least he’d feel no pain.
“Jack, was that really necessary?” The annoyed voice of Betsy rang loud in Jack’s head. Looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Yeah,” he answered, not sounding the least bit sorry for his actions.
“Didn’t we have a talk about this not too long ago?” He could practically picture her standing there, purple hair askew with her arms folded, a steely expression on her face of disapproval. Of course, his thoughts soon drifted elsewhere with thoughts of how she would look, namely dressed in that skin-tight mission outfit… “Focus or you’ll never see me in that or any outfit ever again. Is he really worth the effort?” Jack looked at unconscious mutant beneath his feet. The urge to just crush his head in, watch him bleed and die, was so strong it was almost a physical pain. But if he did give in, he’d have a much more real ache without Betsy around to soothe it.
With a few loud grumbles, both real and mental, he removed his foot and walked off, leaving the body on the ground. Elsewhere in the camp, his telepathic lover was massaging her temples as a headache began to form. Sometimes, she felt like the owner of a very ornery German Shepherd. She removed herself from Jack’s mind, the contentment and utter lack of remorse at his act too much to handle at the moment.
Pyro woke up forty-five minutes later and painfully crawled his way back to his bed. He had no idea why Fate had spared him once again, but resolved not to come out from under the covers even if the Apocalypse started.
Jack found himself in such a good mood he was humming for the rest of the day. The other team members avoided him all the more, considering it a clear sign of madness in the crazy old hunter.
When: Backdated to the sick plot
Rating: PG-13 for grumpy hunter violence
For: Here you go K! Sorry it took so long!
Jack was practically in Heaven. The mutants were sick while the humans stayed fine. If he had been one of those religious wingnuts who were always spouting off how mutants were spawn of the Devil, he’d have said it was a sign from God that they were unnatural and this was their punishment. Being a much more practical man, he was just extremely pleased to know that most of the team was shit out of luck when it came to staying healthy. The quarantine imposed on the buildings meant nothing to him. He could go wherever he pleased and not have to worry about a damn thing.
John felt he was in Hell. It was much colder than he had thought it would be. He’d barely paid attention when one of the usual army flunkies came around and told him that he was to stay in his room while whatever it was that was that had made its way through the entire team continued to be contagious. He would have told the guy off with a smart remark, but feeling a sudden wave of cold, he merely groaned, rolled over in bed, and pulled the blanket over his head. Feeling desperately thirsty, he reached for the glass by his bedside, only to find it empty. Paging a nurse brought no results. Typical.
They very nearly collided into one another in the hallway. John took a step back and automatically reached for his lighter, but the familiar sensation of feeling the flame like an old friend at the back of his mind wasn’t there. Shit. Face to face with an ancient mutant hunter and no powers. It looked like the universe had decided to once again use him as a punching bag. As usual, when all else failed, John resorted to using his mouth. “Mind moving outta the way, old man?” Of course, that didn’t mean his mouth was going to get him out of trouble.
“Now what are you doing out of bed.” It wasn’t a question. The hunter looked positively delighted at this turn of events. He smiled. As any ichthyologist could point out, sharks also smiled right before they attacked weakened prey.
The reply ‘Hoping not to run into you’ seemed like it was just asking for trouble, so John did what he thought was best and stayed silent. This only gave Jack the opportunity to continue on, good eye glinting with a spark that didn’t come from the overhead lights. “What’s the matter, mutie? Not so tough without your powers.”
In hindsight, John would later reflect he shouldn’t have let the words rile him up so much. They were nothing special, just another insult in the long line of them Jack had often heaped upon him. Perhaps due to his illness, his inhibitions were lower. Whatever it was, they got the desired effect. “Shut up.”
“Why? What’re you gonna do about it?” Jack sneered, folding his arms in a challenging manner. “Talk me to death?”
Angrily, John tried to shove his way past. It was the opening Jack needed. A fist that felt like it was made of iron hit the firestarter on the jaw, clipping him so hard his teeth clacked together. Dazed, Pyro instinctively backed away until he felt his shoulders bump the wall. Glaring at Jack, his temper grew. He wanted a fight, fine, he was going to get one.
The “fight” soon became a one-sided beatdown. John’s anger fizzled out as the pain radiated through his body from the punches. For an old man, Jack hit as good as any pro boxer. Once there was the telltale Snap! that came from his chest as a rib was broken, the mutant went completely limp, held up only by Jack holding onto the front of his shirt.
“You talk so much shit--” Jack took great pleasure in using his left hand to deliver a merciless blow to Pyro’s face. The skin still bore the scars left over from Russia when Pyro had lit it on fire. Blood from the kid’s split lip now dotted the old twisted burn marks. “-and have your powers when you’re--” It was then that John lost the energy to even cry out as the punches continued to rain down on him. His internal energies began to be primarily concerned with keeping him conscious. An alarming thought ran through his head as he realized that Jack might kill him. It was enough for his hands to come up and feebly struggle against the mutant hunter. “--just another punk kid with his mouth overloadin’ his ass.” Dropping him on the ground into an undignified heap, Jack stood over him, savoring the injuries he had just inflicted.
Pyro had hoped he was beyond feeling any more pain. But the toe of Jack’s boot connecting squarely with his eye told him otherwise. A shrill scream of pain, the sound higher than John had previously thought he was possible of making, tore its way out of the bloodied mouth. If he could have spoken, he would have been begging Jack to just kill him and get it over with. The words got lost on the way, resulting only in a pathetic wheezing noise punctuated by coughs and sniffles.
The feeling of a shoe heel grinding into the side of his head made John’s eyes widen in fear. “You’re a gutless, pathetic little worm.” This was the end. The crazy old man was finally going to murder him in cold blood. A woozy feeling descended over John and black began to creep in at the edges of his vision. At least he’d feel no pain.
“Jack, was that really necessary?” The annoyed voice of Betsy rang loud in Jack’s head. Looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Yeah,” he answered, not sounding the least bit sorry for his actions.
“Didn’t we have a talk about this not too long ago?” He could practically picture her standing there, purple hair askew with her arms folded, a steely expression on her face of disapproval. Of course, his thoughts soon drifted elsewhere with thoughts of how she would look, namely dressed in that skin-tight mission outfit… “Focus or you’ll never see me in that or any outfit ever again. Is he really worth the effort?” Jack looked at unconscious mutant beneath his feet. The urge to just crush his head in, watch him bleed and die, was so strong it was almost a physical pain. But if he did give in, he’d have a much more real ache without Betsy around to soothe it.
With a few loud grumbles, both real and mental, he removed his foot and walked off, leaving the body on the ground. Elsewhere in the camp, his telepathic lover was massaging her temples as a headache began to form. Sometimes, she felt like the owner of a very ornery German Shepherd. She removed herself from Jack’s mind, the contentment and utter lack of remorse at his act too much to handle at the moment.
Pyro woke up forty-five minutes later and painfully crawled his way back to his bed. He had no idea why Fate had spared him once again, but resolved not to come out from under the covers even if the Apocalypse started.
Jack found himself in such a good mood he was humming for the rest of the day. The other team members avoided him all the more, considering it a clear sign of madness in the crazy old hunter.