literature

And The Men Were Like Gods: 1

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"Last call," Freya V shouted, flipping an empty bottle of Goose in her hand before chucking it. The ensuing grumbles were drowned out by resounding calls for that last well drink or that last shot. The local band that had served as the night's entertainment was already down for the count, the mostly-human members nursing various stages of drunkenness in the booths and on the far end of the bar. Same shit, different night.

"Go, Freya," came a silky-smooth voice from behind her, perfectly audible even over the clamor of the patrons. Severin Sane could have been heard over an arena full of cranky metal-heads with a cheap mic and a cupped hand; his voice, no matter how low, commanded all to hearken to it. "I got this."

Freya didn't argue. "We got two Jacks and cokes, a Stella, and three Guinnesses so far," she rattled off, pointing at their respective future owners. Severin nodded and reached for glasses, the shine off his silk shirt like the flash of a diamond as he moved. Impeccable. Always impeccable.

The din faded as she ducked out of the bar area and through the door marked "Do Not Enter", passing into the short hall beyond. There was something about the way the average patron looked at that door as they passed by it that always made Freya think that it was more than three little words that kept them out. Considering she had her own little niche in the realm of sorcery, she wasn't surprised.

In the sparse employees' room she retrieved her leather trench and patted the pockets absently, making sure her personal effects were accounted for before tossing the thing over her shoulders and sliding her arms into the sleeves.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck slowly came to attention as she headed back towards the bar, a quick last drink before hitting the pavement the only thing on her mind. She wasn't a fool, but she had no time for gut feelings. She'd recorded the season finale of 'Merlin's Legacy' and she wasn't going to wait a moment longer than she had to…

The jarring sound of shatterproof glass colliding against stone made Freya freeze in place as she stepped into the establishment proper, one foot cocked up behind her, her head whipping towards the noise.

Oh hell no, it's too late for this shit.

Without a second thought, she took a detour around the corner towards the front door, sniffing suspiciously as she strode. She'd smelled werewolves, sorcerers, vampires, daemons, and a whole host of other inhuman creatures during her time in Refaire, but this was new. She didn't like new. Especially when new tried to break the doors off the Church.

As soon as the intruder came into view, the miraculously unfazed door whisking shut behind him, Freya's heels squeaked on the lacquered tile as her momentum slowed considerably. The wind whooshed out of her sails immediately.

Her eyes slowly rolled upward. This was not a man. This was a roadblock.

Surreptitiously she raised her hands up to her waist and squeezed. As she thought, the male's arms were approximately the same circumference. And she was no skinny bitch.

And then the Earth tilted slightly on its axis as the roadblock moved, stepping aside with legs that could have masqueraded as tree trunks. Freya blinked once, twice; finally, she realized that he was moving out of her way.

"Oh, no, I…" She cleared her throat, even though her voice was always an octave lower than where it should have been for a person with two X chromosomes. "I, uh, was actually coming to see what the… the door-slamming was about." Shit, hands like that, it's a wonder we still have a door. "We're actually shutting down… for the…"

Raising her eyes to meet his gaze, the most natural thing in the world when speaking to another sentient being, was a mistake in this case. The man's -- if that's what he really was -- eyes pulverized her words before they could leave her lips. If asked, she wouldn't have been able to state what color they were; you never knew what color the sun really was when you were staring straight into it.

"Perhaps…" Freya's eyes flicked towards the door to see if lightning was flashing, but that thunderous sound was not coming from outside. The male had just opened his mouth. "I will not require a drink after all."

Her skin was humming, like a tuning fork struck at just the right angle. The press of well-liquored Church devotees as they made for the doors was just a minor distraction. Severin's voice as he wryly wished them all a good morning was just an idle whisper on a light breeze. She was having a hard time remembering who she was.

"Unless, of course…" The words trailed off, leaving a challenge in their wake. Arms clad in thin, modernized mail folded across a chest that resembled a barrel more than it resembled a storehouse for vital organs. The shifting and clinking of metal links was unbearably loud. Who wears that shit nowadays -- and makes it look like the most natural thing in the world?

She wasn't stupid, even if she was a little dull at the moment. She got hit on enough times at the bar by less subtle suitors. And whether he looked like something out of mythology or not, she was well-versed in saying, "Uh, well… see, I… I was just on my way out the door, and… yeah, I don't…"

Usually, the reply went more like, "No thanks," but this was obviously a special case.

With a sniff of obvious disapproval, the monstrous man turned to leave. Severin emerged from behind the bar and stepped towards Freya with a raised eyebrow and a suspicious glance towards the guy. Freya barely noticed, because she was lunging for the Hulk's bicep. Fiery indignation licked at her, shooting sparks in her narrowed eyes. No one turns away from me.

Before she could make contact, his large mitt paused on the door handle and those eyes froze her in place again. She could barely make out the curve and dimple of a smirk under those spotlights.

Severin slid a hand through gel-slicked hair, the arch of his eyebrow considerably more pronounced. He mumbled something about locking up when she was done and retreated through the "Do Not Enter" door, the subtle undercurrent of electricity in the air making his hair crackle as his hand left it.

Hulk's hand slid off the door handle, his gaze still boring a hole through Freya and into the stone behind her. The snick of the lock being tripped accompanied the motion. A shiver passed through her as her body attuned to the charge in the air, the sorceress in her recognizing its favored element like a hand recognizes the texture of a lover's skin.

The male's footfalls thudded like hoof beats as he moved past her, stepped into the establishment, and headed for the stage area. And though Freya was marked by her need to always be in the lead, the weight of temptation forced her to follow.
Well, Chapter I - where we meet the equally inimitable... Hulk. Sequoia. Colossus.

Big Man On Campus -- literally.

To be honest, I am still finding My voice in this story, and if you ask Me, that floundering is painfully obvious. It is equally obvious that prose does not come as easily to Me as it used to. I am creakier than Silver from Stephen King's 'It'...

Anyway. Suggestions and all other forms of 'you-fucked-this-up' are welcome.
© 2009 - 2024 CennCruach
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