Tooth & Claw 2They're Marvel's. No money. Don't sue.
And heeeere's part two! Gee, that was fast, wasn't it?
The curse of the Nachichi upon any who read and don't comment. ;-)
Tooth & Claw 2
By Kaylee
He'd gotten the boy back to the cabin by the simple means of picking him up, 
slinging him over a shoulder, and clamping an arm over wriggling legs to keep 
him in place. Logan hadn't seemed too happy with being treated like a sack of 
grain, but there wasn't a hell of a lot the kid could do about it. He'd finally 
let his struggles subside into stiff stillness...which Victor wasn't about to 
believe was obedience.
Did the boy realize that he'd been bartered about like a possession? Like an 
object everybody wanted, but nobody wanted to keep? Would it have mattered to 
him if he did?
Inside the cabin, Creed'd swiftly dumped Logan down and watched him stumble for 
balance. The wind outside had picked up to a low howl that heralded the first 
big autumn storm of the year. A little ways south, this'd be considered a 
blizzard. Here the lashing snow was almost commonplace. A real blizzard was 
something even Creed worried about. Hard to find food when all the animals had 
gone to ground, and he wasn't particularly fond of going into town after the 
barely edible crap everyone else around here lived off of.
But this was only a minor storm, so there wasn't much to worry about.
The dark eyes had sized up everything in the cabin -- every exit, to be precise 
-- as soon as he'd been dropped. Windows on every wall; bolted shut already 
against the storm. Victor'd smelled it coming long before the heavy dark clouds 
had gathered in the north. Luckily for him and unluckily for the boy, the 
shutters bolted on the outside. The only other exit was the door.
And Creed himself stood firmly barring that.
Logan saw that escape was a wasted effort quickly enough. His half-starved frame 
straightened to his full meager height and he turned that fiercely scared glare 
on his warden once again.
"Betcha'd like t' get rid o' those ropes, huh boy?"
Silent stare. 
Victor cocked his head, sizing up just how snug the restraints were. Looked like 
the little guy'd freaked someone out bad enough that they'd all but cut off 
circulation when tying him. Creed idly wondered just what a kid so tiny'd been 
able to do to grown men that'd put 'em on edge...but didn't pursue the thought 
for long. Wasn't his concern. No...he wasn't too worried at all about a wisp of 
skin and bone and not much else. 
Vic took a step forward. Logan flinched back, bravado faltering. The big man 
halted. Logan halted.
Hmph. Abruptly, Creed dropped into a crouch so that his head was only a little 
higher than the boy's. He casually rested brawny forearms on his thighs, hands 
dangling loosely between his knees. "I don't like ropes much myself. C'mere an' 
I'll get 'em offa ya."
The boy was motionless. Did he understand the words? Hard to tell. How the hell 
long had the Injuns had him, anyway?
Creed frowned. "Well c'mere, boy. Ain't got all night."
Eyes flickered across his face. He said something -- sounded like gibberish to 
Victor, but it seemed to mean something real important to the kid. Almost a 
formal sorta question-sound to it...like he'd just put out a line that called 
for a particular response and was waiting doubtfully to see if he'd get it.
Well he sure as hell wasn't gonna get it. Impatiently, Creed reached a long arm 
for him. Logan started to jump backwards, but wasn't quick enough to avoid him. 
Large fingers closed soundly over one bound arm and pulled him easily forward. A 
quick, babbled protest was cut off as the big man turned him around swiftly. 
Terror came off of him in waves thick enough to almost choke Creed's senses. He 
paid it no mind. A claw neatly slipped between the ropes, severing them easily. 
As soon as they dropped to the floor he released Logan, who then lunged for the 
opposite wall and whirled to clamp his back against it, eyes wide and mouth open 
to suck in fear-laden breaths in short pants.
Never seen a kid so squirrelly. Course, he hadn't had much to do with kids at 
all. Sobbing little brats always looking at him like he was something scary, 
something dangerous.
Heh. Didn't the Big Book of Bullshit say something about 'out of the mouths of 
babes'...?
After that Victor more or less ignored the boy, going about his normal doings 
and paying no more mind to him than making sure he didn't rabbit for the door. 
Once, he actually tried. Creed calmly snatched him back, then went right on 
digging in the cupboard for something edible. He'd taken the time a while back 
to smoke the meat of one of his larger kills -- he didn't wanna waste the food, 
but even he hadn't been able to eat a whole moose in one sitting. Some of the 
wood-flavored stuff was wrapped in paper in a cabinet. He pulled it out, 
unwrapped it, and placed it on a bench while he moved to hunch by the fireplace 
and set about coaxing a flame from forgotten embers buried in ash.
Logan watched him warily, but his eyes kept drifting to the meat left so 
tantalizingly in the open. Victor studiously attended to the reluctant flames. 
After a few minutes Logan took a tentative step towards the (bait) food.
Then froze, watching for any reaction at all.
Of course he got none. Victor poked idly at the fire and listened to the wood 
pop, feeling the growing heat start to tingle across his skin.
Another step, foot sliding slowly, slowly across the ground.
"Better get used t' the sound o' my voice, boy. I ain't gonna tiptoe 'round 
here."
Logan flinched at his words -- almost looked ready to try bolting for the closed 
door. Creed didn't turn to him and just continued poking at embers that needed 
no more stoking and watching red and orange and yellow lick at chill air.
Another slow, cautious, deer-at-the-edge-of-the-woods step.
They'd probably had him in a cell, Victor mused absently as he followed the 
hesitant progress. Of course no wild thing thrown into a cage was gonna eat. And 
this kid, whatever else he might be, was feral as any of the savages he'd been 
living with.
Which meant that maybe Victor could understand him better than any of the 
townies who'd had their hands on him. 
Foot -- covered in what looked like a singed moccasin -- slid forward with 
whisper softness.
Paine hadn't brought any clothes with the kid. If he was gonna stay alive this 
winter, he'd need something. Those poorly-fitting trousers wouldn't do much to 
keep the cold out and the shirt -- cotton? -- was thin enough that he was 
shivering already. Trying to hide it, of course. Trying to hide everything. 
Trying to hide that he was nothing but a scared little boy whose whole world had 
just been ripped apart.
Fingers stretched. Faltered. Nervous eyes flitted towards him.
What was he gonna do with the boy tonight? How would he keep him from vanishing 
into the snow? Could tie 'im...maybe lock 'im in the shed...
Dark, dank, musty air sliding down his windpipe, thicker than air should be. 
Head snapping up at the sound -- the so familiar sound -- from above as the door 
whined its way open and spilled too-bright light into eyes accustomed to shadow. 
The rattling sound of metal links at his motion...the weight that chafed at his 
throat, rubbed raw patches where neck met shoulders.
The voice (Poppa?), grating and harsh and (feared) hated-- "Dinner time, boy."
Creed thought that maybe he didn't really need to lock the kid up after all.
It was a lot of effort to go to, really. Needless effort. He could bunk himself 
down by the door, and there was no way in hell Logan'd get past him without 
waking him. Even if the kid spent the whole night trying to find a way out all 
he'd end up doing would be tiring himself out. And that was all to the good, so 
far as Creed was concerned. 
He realized suddenly that the boy'd snatched the meat while his thoughts 
wandered, and had now retreated back to his corner to wolf it down, hardly 
bothering to chew in his hunger. Victor gave up the pretense of working on the 
flames, edging around 'til he could prop his back against the wall and sprawl 
his long legs out in front of him. Logan froze up -- again -- when he noticed 
the man's regard. Creed just stared, fingers loosely linked over his stomach, 
eyes critical and searching.
He was supposed to make this scrawny little bantam like him. 
What the hell do they expect me t' do with 'im?
He frowned and scrutinized the thin form more closely, not overly concerned with 
the way the boy tensed at his appraisal. No length of bone at all...nothing to 
hint that he'd sprout to unimagined heights when he grew a bit older. No...it 
looked as if this one'd be a runt his whole life. Creed's lip quirked in 
disgust. They thought something like this could ever be like him? Ridiculous, 
the very thought.
Look for somethin' you can work with, damnit.
It wasn't apparent at first -- or even second or third -- glance, but he could 
somewhat see the potential for strength in the tiny frame. He didn't know how a 
kid's bones should look at this age, but it seemed to him that maybe the boy's 
were a tad bit thicker than he'd thought at first glance...tougher and stronger. 
Was he just imagining a bit of depth to that bony chest? No...it was there. Ribs 
sprang out in arcs that just might one day be considered broad. And even though 
he'd been starved for a while he didn't quite look skeletal. There was an 
underlying base for muscle, there.
Creed thought suddenly of wolves. Southern and northern wolves. The creatures 
he'd seen far, far south of here...down into lands that lacked only a bit of 
sand to be called desert...had been thin and tall and lanky. Their bodies were 
designed to disperse heat as effectively as possible. Nature's way of making 
them more efficient at survival. More efficient at killing.
In their environment, of course.
But the wolves that hunted the forests here were comparatively small, compact 
things. They conserved heat in their stocky bodies. And they were every bit as 
powerful as their southern brothers...it only took witnessing a pack's attack on 
one of the huge and dangerous moose in these woods to know that.
So. Maybe the pipsqueak wouldn't be a complete waste of time.
Though if he was gonna be a part of this "Project" he probably wouldn't be 
around long enough for Creed to even begin to find out what he might be able to 
do.
"Like me," he muttered, watching Logan try to suppress an involuntary shiver 
from the cold. Somewhere out past the hushed sigh of falling snow there came a 
cry from a creature unwary enough to think all the hunters were safely tucked 
away in their dens. The boy twitched, head turning a little to catch the faint, 
barely audible sound. Creed's eyes narrowed just a bit. A slow and unpleasant 
grin started across his face. 
"You fuckin' halfwit, Paine. Should know by now t' watch whatcha ask for."
~end part 2~