prompt response for yetregressing

Aug 02, 2010 17:01

Wes doesn't have much to his name.

There's the bike shop he's turned into a labor of love, a room at the Kashtta he only keeps just in case he may be needed, and some black and white pictures that have faded at the corners. There aren't any distinctive merits to this name, and most of his accomplishments go unspoken. He rarely talks of the family he misses every day of his life, and he never speaks of the wars that he's lived and the deaths that he's caused.

The soldier mentality was ingrained in him at a very young age. The Archangel that picked him up off the streets--a cage match to be precise--molded him to that mentality. A guardian angel should not be made idle while they have no ward. A guardian's Calling, ward or no, is to guard.

Protect.

Fight.

A soldier.

Wes was lanky throughout his younger years. He wasn't gifted in the art of combat and it didn't come to him naturally. It was something he pushed himself into becoming. Wes was a quiet southern boy who liked working in a farm with his daddy and spending the day with the horses.

The muscles that now ripple through his body were something he acquired over the years, through brutal years of training and despite a mentality he didn't agree with. Hunt demons for no reason other than the fact they were demons.

There isn't a martial art he wasn't taught and there isn't a weapon he can't use.

He excels in hand-to-hand combat. He knows how to kill a man, any man, by striking with his palm with little to no effort. He knows every pulse point that would make a body crumple to the ground without breaking a sweat.

He made himself into this weapon so that someday, he would be able to protect his ward once the ward was found. He made himself this way so that nothing could ever touch the person he was meant to guard with his life.

After eighty years of wandering aimlessly, of living a life that was strictly his own, he was ready to find them.

Wes is stronger and taller than most men. He's nearly seven feet and he weighs over two hundred pounds. He can lift a car and chuck it to the other side of the road on a good day. He can overpower his opponent through sheer force and if not, use tactics that were taught to him in the forty years he spent with Archangels.

He's strong and he's disciplined and he's got the will.

And somehow, somehow, he's still failing Martha Jones.

martha jones, prompt

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