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eliyesTitle: Random Encounters Happen In Convenience Stores, Too
Character: Rictor
Warning: Swearing.
Summary: This is a little ficlet that takes place between Rictor leaving Cable's team and him showing up as part of a Canadian superteam sent to take Cable down.
Rictor felt the store clerk's eyes following him from the moment he walked in and grabbed a basket. There was no point in trying to act inconspicuous -- with his long hair, ripped jeans, and noticeably darker-than-local complexion, that would just make him seem more like trouble. He was too fuckin' tired to do the 'what are you lookin' at?!' asshole thing, which was probably just as well.
He'd grabbed a jar of peanut butter, a box of soda crackers, and a two liter bottle of cola when the shithead with the gun came in.
That, he was not too tired to notice.
Rictor set his basket down quietly and ghosted up behind the robber, keeping a hand pressed to his wallet chain so it wouldn't jingle and give him away. Granted the volume of the stupid shithead yelling at the clerk to open the safe might have drowned it out, but then again he could be so wired that any little sound would draw his attention.
When the gunman paused for breath, Rictor cleared his throat. Just to test the hypothesis.
He had to duck the wild swing as the robber whirled, but managed to grab his arm while elbowing him a couple times in the solar plexus area. While the guy was catching his breath, Rictor took apart the cheapass pistol, tossing the ammo magazine into the garbage by the door, five seperate pieces of the gun into different aisles, and -- the pièce de résistance -- the bullet that had been chambered into his mouth like an aspirin while locking eyes with the stupid fuck. He swallowed obviously (actually tucking the bullet under his tongue), then leaned into the guy's space, sneering.
The target of this intimidation tactic reared back, tripped on his own feet, and fell to the floor, knocking himself out cold.
Rictor rolled his eyes and went back for his basket. He added sardines and a can of peaches to his haul. On his return to the counter, he paused to spit the bullet out at the still-unconscious man on the floor; it bounced off his chest and rolled under a display of pre-packaged pastries.
The clerk still had his hands in the air when Rictor started unloading his intended purchases in front of him.
"Uh..."
Rictor raised an eyebrow at him. "You okay, there?"
"You -- you just -- who are you?"
Rictor shrugged. "I'm nobody, man. How much?"
"What?"
Reaching for his wallet, Rictor gestured at the items he'd put on the counter. "How much?" he asked again.
"Oh! Uh --" The clerk hurriedly scanned and bagged everything and told him the total. They performed the ritual transaction of cash-change-and-receipt as though there wasn't an unconscious criminal on the floor.
"Have a nice night," the clerk said automatically as Rictor started for the door. He looked a bit dazed, so Rictor waved a hand to get him to focus and then pointed to the robber.
"Call the cops. He won't stay K.O.'d forever."
"Right." Scrambling for the phone, the clerk called out a thank you just as Rictor pushed out the door.
When the Canadian G-Men caught up to him two days later, they mentioned the incident as part of their pitch to get him on some team.
.
;3
Character: Rictor
Warning: Swearing.
Summary: This is a little ficlet that takes place between Rictor leaving Cable's team and him showing up as part of a Canadian superteam sent to take Cable down.
Rictor felt the store clerk's eyes following him from the moment he walked in and grabbed a basket. There was no point in trying to act inconspicuous -- with his long hair, ripped jeans, and noticeably darker-than-local complexion, that would just make him seem more like trouble. He was too fuckin' tired to do the 'what are you lookin' at?!' asshole thing, which was probably just as well.
He'd grabbed a jar of peanut butter, a box of soda crackers, and a two liter bottle of cola when the shithead with the gun came in.
That, he was not too tired to notice.
Rictor set his basket down quietly and ghosted up behind the robber, keeping a hand pressed to his wallet chain so it wouldn't jingle and give him away. Granted the volume of the stupid shithead yelling at the clerk to open the safe might have drowned it out, but then again he could be so wired that any little sound would draw his attention.
When the gunman paused for breath, Rictor cleared his throat. Just to test the hypothesis.
He had to duck the wild swing as the robber whirled, but managed to grab his arm while elbowing him a couple times in the solar plexus area. While the guy was catching his breath, Rictor took apart the cheapass pistol, tossing the ammo magazine into the garbage by the door, five seperate pieces of the gun into different aisles, and -- the pièce de résistance -- the bullet that had been chambered into his mouth like an aspirin while locking eyes with the stupid fuck. He swallowed obviously (actually tucking the bullet under his tongue), then leaned into the guy's space, sneering.
The target of this intimidation tactic reared back, tripped on his own feet, and fell to the floor, knocking himself out cold.
Rictor rolled his eyes and went back for his basket. He added sardines and a can of peaches to his haul. On his return to the counter, he paused to spit the bullet out at the still-unconscious man on the floor; it bounced off his chest and rolled under a display of pre-packaged pastries.
The clerk still had his hands in the air when Rictor started unloading his intended purchases in front of him.
"Uh..."
Rictor raised an eyebrow at him. "You okay, there?"
"You -- you just -- who are you?"
Rictor shrugged. "I'm nobody, man. How much?"
"What?"
Reaching for his wallet, Rictor gestured at the items he'd put on the counter. "How much?" he asked again.
"Oh! Uh --" The clerk hurriedly scanned and bagged everything and told him the total. They performed the ritual transaction of cash-change-and-receipt as though there wasn't an unconscious criminal on the floor.
"Have a nice night," the clerk said automatically as Rictor started for the door. He looked a bit dazed, so Rictor waved a hand to get him to focus and then pointed to the robber.
"Call the cops. He won't stay K.O.'d forever."
"Right." Scrambling for the phone, the clerk called out a thank you just as Rictor pushed out the door.
When the Canadian G-Men caught up to him two days later, they mentioned the incident as part of their pitch to get him on some team.
.
;3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-05 08:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-05 09:23 am (UTC)