Xavier-Seattle
Jolting awake he wondered where he was, who he was and how he had gotten to where he was now. Standing with aching joint and a sore chest, he looked around his surrounding with black eyes. He seemed to be in the bathtub of a dingy bathroom. Groaning as he heaved himself out of the tub to stand on the rough mildew covered carpet he looked around at the walls, with black mould covering the majority of the surface like a weird furry wallpaper. He lurched and staggered to the mirror and sink, holding onto the white porcelain for dear life. Staring into the mirror he looked at his face. Asian. Almond eyes with black pupils and iris’. Slight scar on his lip. It was only as he looked around behind his reflection did he notice there was no lights on inside the bathroom. As he sighed trying to answer the questions in his mind, where he was, how he had gotten here, why he was there at all and who he was, his breath fogged the mirrored surface. His fingers deftly wrote the words ‘Xavier Windsor’ on the cold surface. Xavier smiled grimly too himself. That was one question answered, only a couple hundred more to go.
Noticing the door beside him he slowly turned the cold brass handle before slipping outside the bathroom. Xavier glanced around the hall, his breath misting up in front of him. He looked down and was glad to see warm clothes on his body, black jeans and t-shirt, black canvas shoes and a nice warm hoody, black as well. As he turned his head side to side, cracking his neck with small pops a lock of hair fell in front of his face. His hand tentatively reached up and pulled his long black hair from behind his head to his right shoulder. A small silver dragon pin with a jade ball in its mouth felt heavy in his pocket until he pulled it out. His hands deftly put his hair in a topknot, the pin securing it in place, as if he had done it a million times. Shaking his head in bemusement, he stepped carefully into the hall. The wood creaked ever so slightly as he walked gently towards the stairs. The stairs barely made a sound and Xavier found himself in another hall on the bottom floor. Through the front door no light came in, the inky blackness of night visible to him. As he tiptoed around the hall, checking each door with a small jiggle of the doorknob only one opened up so Xavier stepped into it. The warm heat from a wood fire hit him like a warm blanket. Closing the door behind him Xavier explored the new room. Trophy heads of animals hung on the walls and old-fashioned rifles adorned the walls. Xavier disregarded them and huddled near the wood fire in a large leather sofa. Warm and comfortable Xavier felt like there were weights on his eyelids. Succumbing to sleep Xavier rested against the sofa near the fire.
Xavier woke up with a muffled cry. A throbbing in his head made lit feel like a war drum was beating in his mind. His arms were bign held down by two knees against the arms of the sofa. A rough hand was covering his mouth and what felt like a knife blade was pressing against his neck, a small trickle of warm blood already trickling down his neck, but Xavier felt strangely calm. Rough voices assaulted his ringing ears. His dry mouth seemed to suck in the warm air of the room like a pair of bellows. Opening his eyes slowly he blinked at the bright light around him. He saw through misty vision two guys in front of him, one dressed in a plaid shirt and the other wearing a too large jumper. The man with the jumper, his face scarred and bearded, was staring at Xavier then slapped him hard.
“You ‘wake you little shit. Think you can ‘ide in our base and steal our shit with out getting beaten. I don’t think so. It’s four of us and one of you, so don’t even try and put up a fight…yet.” Jumper-man leaned forward closer and shook Xavier’s head roughly. “What’s yer name? Where you from? Why you ‘ere?”
As Xavier blinked slow and hard he thought about the questions. The blade was removed from his throat so he could answer but two strong grips squeezed his shoulders roughly. His voice sounded weird too him, different from the accent of the man who spoke to him. It took him a while to place it but he finally figured it out, English. “Xavier. What’s yours?”
A punch to Xavier’s guts shut him up as the man spoke again. “Shut it …Xavier. We ask the question ‘ere, not you!” Jumper-man turned around and picked up a black backpack and a sword, the handle black leather and the scabbard made out of black-stained wood. “We found yer shit in the bathroom. Got a sword and everything don’t ya. Proper little warrior aren’t you.” As he pulled the sword out of the scabbard the black blade seemed to absorb the light of the room. Silver etchings shimmered with designs of a turtle and a snake. Xavier tried lunge for the blade but two strong hands pulled him back down into the sofa. “Let go of that!” His voice filled with rage Xavier glared at jumper-man.
The man in the plaid shirt spoke up for the first time. “Hey boss, how about we make him fight for his freedom?” The jumper-man turned and grinned at the man in the plaid shirt, “good idea Jimmy.” Turning back to face Xavier he spoke. “Alright, we will let you go, with yer gear. Cant say we aint fair and all that, if you fight us. We’ll even give you yer sword back. Whadya say?”
Xavier felt calmly reassured by the prospect of fighting for his freedom. A simple nod and the hands from his shoulders released him and pushed him out of the sofa. Turning around to face the two people who held him down he saw one was a skinny female and the other a large giant of a man, the two obviously brother and sister. As Xavier turned around his eyes went cross-eyed as he stared down the length of the black sword. Jumper man grinned nastily, “or we could just kill you now and save us the trouble.” Protests came from the other three, mainly from the man in the shirt. Shaking his head jumper-man laughed, his voice mocking, “nah we’ll fight ya. Be fun to practice.” As jumper-man slowly sheathed the blade and dropped it to the floor the others grinned and grabbed their weapons. The brother grabbed a metal baseball bat, the sister a small hunting bow and the man in the plaid shirt a large pair of machetes. The jumper man just pulled a pair of solid looking brass knuckle-dusters out and slipped them over his thick sausage like fingers. Xavier stooped to pick the sword up and the moment he touched the handle he felt more alert, more alive. As the four strangers lined up on the opposite side of the room Xavier unsheathed the blade, letting the scabbard drop to the floor.
Xavier walked out of the house, his backpack stuffed with tinned food and water. His sword was strapped to his back between the pack and his back. The blade was clean of all blood as the sword seemed to have drank it. As he ran in the cold night air, his hood pulled up over his face, Xavier smiled.
Tormund-Phoenix
He woke up as if from a deep sleep. He lay on his back staring, his legs a tangle and his arms resting behind his head. The hard surface beneath him felt wooden, solid and warm. He was inside a building but the hole in the roof framed him in a rough circle of light. The hole had jagged edges, metal rods visible inside the concrete. Through the hole above him the sky looked clear, the sun beating down mercilessly and not a cloud in sight. He got up with a groan, propping himself up with one hand. He was on a desk, a metre off the cracked concrete floor. Turning his head from side to side he saw tables, office chairs, monitors. All broken. Frames and partitions were smashed and burnt, glass lay strewn on the ground like jagged knives. The red backpack by his side had a scrap of paper attached, fluttering in the breeze like a miniature flag. Ripping it off he read it, Tormund Askan. A faint memory stirred in his mind but he couldn’t remember it.
A large clear water jug lay on the ground a few metres away, half full. It was only as he saw it that Tormund realized how thirsty he was. Already small sweat rivulets were trickling down his forehead. As he hopped off the table and staggered over weakly he picked the jug up with ease, a surprise to him as even he knew a half full jug of water should be heavier than what it felt like. Disregarding the thought he drank the water without stopping once. The tepid water felt lovely trickling down his throat slowly waking him up. His pale skin felt tingly as he poured some water over his face. Once finished the jug fell to the floor with a loud hollow clatter as Tormund let it go.
A squawk made him turn around startled. Through the empty glass frame, of a floor-to-ceiling window, an eagle flew in and landed on the edge of a wooden table he had been laying on only a few minutes before. It cried loudly, the cry echoing around the room, before bobbing its head almost like it was bow. Its long hooked beak held a leather cord with a metal amulet at the end. It dropped it on the table before flying out off the window. Tormund walked slowly too it, stepping carefully over the jagged glass and picked the amulet up.
A simple t-shaped design with intricate etchings in the metal but he just knew what it was. “Mjollnir!” his cry was both a mix of surprise, wonder and gladness. He slipped the cord around his head and tucked the amulet into his clothes. Looking down he looked at his clothes for the first time, black jeans, a white t-shirt and a zip-up hoody. A large black belt with silver etchings of celtic designs held his jeans up. Sturdy looking black army boots covered his feet and black & silver leather gloves covered his hands, they were both extremely comfy. He wiggled his toes and fingers, a smile forming on his face for no reason.
Popping his head out of the window. Tormund looked down and grinned harder. The height of the building didn’t really bother him, the 40 stories or so seemed insignificant too him. Hanging off the frame he swung into the free space, one arm and leg hanging in free air. The large silver letters on the side of the building said CHASE so Tormund assumed that was the name of the building. Swinging back in he cried into the wind happily, exhilarated by his experience of swinging out of the building. He headed back to the back pack and placed it on the desk. Opening he lay out the stuff inside on to the table. Food, water, a bottle of vodka, a knife and some other tools. He took off his hoody while his pack was off and tied it around his waist. Around his arm to arm torques made of gold, one of two goats both with eyes of black onyx and the other a snake with rubies for eyes, twisting around his muscled forarms. Repacking it he decided to head out down and find what was going on. He couldn’t think where he was, why he was there or who he was really. Come on nobody is called Tormund Askan, he had to have another name.
His pack on his back, where it should be, he walked slowly around the large room clambering over each obstacle slowly. As he got to the doors, the words ‘tairs’ written in flaking sticker and pushed them opened he yelped in surprise. The doorway opened into open space, there was no way of getting down via the stairs, no rails, no supports he could hold onto, no concrete at all for a long way down. Backing away slowly he looked around for another exit. Two silver doors partially opened were by the ‘tairs’ doors. He grabbed one and heaved with all his strength. Surprisingly easily the door slid open easily. The light from the smashed windows partially illuminated the black abyss that was the elevator shaft. A thick metal cable could be seen in the middle. Sticking his head into the blackness he looked up, the underside of a lift visible. Looking down as far as he could there seemed to be nothing but metal cable. “Why?” he moaned to himself before backing up a few steps. He hoped that his gloves would be able to handle the cable.
As he ran forward and jumped into the darkness his body slammed into the cable. It was more solid than it thought and was like running into a tree, hard. As he started falling he let out a yell of delight. The feel of air rushing around him felt good, better than good it felt awesome. Occasional shafts of lights from open doorways would blind him. A sense, a small tingle in his brain, told him that he was near to the ground. Squeezing his hands around the cable as hard as he could he slowed himself down to a halt, outside a doorway. A quick swing and he was in the doorframe. His gloves oddly were unmarked, and his boots just had a blob of grease on the soles. Wiping them off he looked around.
The marble foyer was trashed, the tables strewn around. Holes, Tormund assumed them arrow holes, pockmarked the walls and large metal drums covered in soot and ash were placed out of the wind and sun. As he walked through the empty glass doorway and onto the street he looked left and right. Paper flew around and the road was covered in a layer of sand. His hand went and touched the hammer unconsciously as he walked slowly on the pavement. A cracked piece of reflective glass stood against the wall. He looked into the reflection, seeing his body fully for the first time. He was well muscled, and tall. His hair was long and shaggy and his beard was held midway with a small gold ring. His cheek had a scar on it and his eyes were pale blue, really pale it seemed.
Off in the distance he heard the sound of footsteps. Tormund had two options, run away from the sound or go see what was causing the running. He chose the latter, he wanted company and he wanted answers. Touching his amulet once again he stepped forward towards the sound of running. As he rounded corner he heard voices. His hands forming in large hammer-like fists he shuffled forwards towards them. “Hello?”